


Spring Thaw

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Deaf community, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rural/Farm AU, Slow Burn, past character death mention, rivarmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 116,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: Set in rural Church River, Ontario, Spring Thaw is the story of Levi Ackerman, a deaf novelist trying to come to grips with a farm he doesn't want, and a loss he never asked for.When members of his farming community begin to fall ill, a young environmental technician is assigned to survey Levi's farm and the surrounding countryside.Armin Arlert is bright, passionate and hopelessly awkward. Raised by deaf family members, the complex language of signing is as natural to him as breathing.Beyond a common language, Levi and Armin discover that they have both navigated loss and bereavement, and both have a desire to honour their loved ones through living with purpose.As spring unfolds, their budding friendship catches fire; by turns clumsy, witty, sensual and sarcastic.I hope you enjoy this glimpse into rural Ontario life, the colourful characters and the love story at it's core!





	1. Levi I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkheichou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkheichou/gifts).



> Written for my bud pinkheichou, whose pure-hearted enthusiasm for this ship...reminds me of why we ship stuff!!

_Whump!_

Petra Bossard looked up, startled.

Levi stood on the other side of the library's reception counter. In front of him was a stack of library books, their jackets wrapped in crinkly, protective plastic.

Levi, who'd been born deaf, raised his hands and expressed an opinion using sign-language: _Predictable._

He nudged the top book toward the librarian.

Petra watched the dismissive gesture.

"Oh?" she tilted her head, regarding Levi. She signed back: _You didn't like it?_

_Pedantic. Overused themes._

Levi reached down onto the ledge beside the counter, presenting a paper cup of Tim Horton's coffee and a lemon-poppyseed muffin to Petra.

"Here," a monosyllabic grunt.

Petra signed: _Thanks so much. I didn't have time for breakfast._

Levi pushed the next book in the stack toward Petra, rolling his eyes.

 _This won a Giller prize_ , he signed. He leaned forward, craning his neck and affixing Petra with clear, grey eyes. _An ably-written but pithy coming-out tale._

He spelled out p-i-t-h-y, as that exact descriptor was important to him.

He sighed. _Painful. Poetic. Angsty. Little snapshots, little slices of time...._

Petra reached up onto the counter, taking each of Levi's returned library books and scanning the barcodes on their spines.

She put the books down long enough to sign: _Whereas? What would you offer as a more realistic coming-out story?_

 _Banging Terry Puckett behind the IGA when I was finally tall enough to do it!_  Levi managed to imbue his signing with the same unrefined, wry humour with which he wrote.

Without missing a beat, Petra looked Levi square in the face and mouthed clearly, "Were you standing on a milk crate?"

Levi laughed then, a hoarse, coyote-bark, eyes twinkling.

He signed: _You are far too filthy-minded to wear knitted cardigans._

Petra raised a ginger eyebrow.

 _What about this one?_ she picked up another of Levi's returns. _Didn't you like the character of Thaddeus?_

_Why, because Thaddeus is dour, and sarcastic?_

Petra shrugged.

Levi snorted. _You think I'm dour. I'm not dour. I'm very funny. I have a great sense of humour._

Petra lifted the last of Levi's returned books off of the counter, passing it through her scanner.

Levi leaned on the counter.

 _Why don't you get an e-reader, Levi?_ Petra signed. _A kobo or something?_

 _Nah. I like to write notes in my books,_ Levi replied. _Besides, I'm a dairy farmer. I'm not about to drop a kobo onto the barn floor to get stomped or pissed on. Impractical._

 _You didn't like anything that I recommended,_  Petra looked a little deflated, pretty coral mouth downturned.

_Not true. I liked the one about the goat and the butt-plug._

_Well,_ Petra Bossard shrugged, _if the literary scene is as desolate as you claim, I guess you'd better finish your own novel then, hadn't you?_

"Yah, yah..." his own voice, which he'd never heard, was soft and coarse, like something dragged over stone.

The bright morning light dimmed then, blotted out as a large figure opened the glass door and entered the Church River District Library.

Petra Bossard peered over the counter shyly. "Good morning, Mike."

Mike Zacharius approached the counter, smiling cautiously at Petra. He placed his book down and faced Levi.

 _Good morning,_ he signed, with agonizing care. He waited, looking expectantly at Levi.

 _Good morning,_ Levi signed back, just as slowly.

The tall, bearded farmer grinned triumphantly, hooking his thumbs into the suspenders of his overalls.

Levi tapped Petra on the shoulder, jerking his thumb at Mike. He signed for Mike, using Petra as an interpreter.

Petra translated verbally: "Pleased with yourself?"

"Matter of fact, I am," Mike nodded. "Except," he pushed his library book toward Petra, "got to say, I want my money back."

"You didn't pay me any money," Petra took a sip of her coffee. "Didn't you like your book, either?"

"Oh, I liked it fine," Mike replied. "Except, look here. The last page...the _very last page_ is torn out. Now who'd do a thing like that?"

Levi barked in amusement.

"It's not funny!" Mike frowned.

Petra sighed, rising and picking up the book. "Okay. Just give me a minute...."

She walked to the back of the intake area, tapping something into a laptop.

Mike turned back to Levi, raising his spatulate hands. He frowned in concentration.

 _Donkey?_ he signed, finally. _How?_

Levi nodded his head. "Donkey," his words were clear, although melted around the edges, "I got it."

Mike beamed. _Donkey,_ he signed again happily, large hands and forearms animated. _Donkey. Sandwich. Sandwich._

Petra returned to the desk. "Here you are," she said brightly, "I found the missing page online and printed it out. I taped it inside."

Mike accepted the book, tipping the brim of his John Deere cap and settling it back onto his sandy shag of hair. "That was clever! And sweet of you to take the time..."

Levi jabbed Petra in the arm. _This dumbass just signed donkey-sandwich-sandwich at me._

 _Don't make fun_ , Petra responded. _He's trying._

 _Tell him,_ Levi snorted, _Tell him he's a big, dumb prick, thick as fucking day-old oatmeal._

 _I'm not swearing on your behalf, we've discussed this..._  Petra flapped her hand dismissively at Levi. "Mike, you just signed 'donkey-sandwich-sandwich' to him."

"I'm just trying to ask him how his donkey is."

Petra demonstrated the sign sequence:  _How is your donkey?_

Mike imitated her.

 _Donkey sandwich_ , Levi repeated, still amused.  _You wander into my top field and you'll be a donkey sandwich._

Mike turned back toward the desk. "Thanks, Petra," he said softly. "You keeping okay?"

Petra pulled her crocheted sweater around her shoulders. "Fine enough," she looked up at him.

"You need anything, just say the word." Mike nodded at Levi then, took his scotch-taped book, and left.

 _Bye-bye donkey sandwich,_ Levi snickered.

Petra gazed after Mike, thoughtfully.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the counter, to get her attention.

 _How are you doing, really?_ he signed.

 _Good days and bad days_ , her smile was touched with melancholy. _Mostly good. I get annoyed over small things now, you know? When I can't open a jar, or move a piece of furniture by myself. When things break. That's when I miss Auruo most. I'm almost annoyed at him for dying, and leaving me with an entire cellar full of jarred beetroot._

_Just call me. I'll come by any time._

_I'm not calling you every time I need to open a jar of beets. I've been slogging through pickled beets for three years, now._ She giggled, bittersweet.

 _Has it been three years already?_ Levi signed.

_Yes. Auruo died three years ago, this coming July._

Levi shook his head, and spoke: "Erwin has been gone for five years."

Petra nodded her head, facing Levi so he could read her lips: "Erwin used to sit right over there in that armchair, on Saturday mornings, reading the paper and drinking his coffee."

 _I spent two years,_ Levi expressed his thought carefully, _trying to preserve everything, just as it had been. Almost as if he might come back. Then, there came a day...when I knew I had to become reacquainted with myself. With the 'me' that existed before Erwin, you know? The 'me' that left this place, went to the city, to write. To fuck. And to change the world._

"And?"

_And here I am, right back where I started, up to my ankles in cowshit._

_I know,_ Petra nodded her head. _Auruo is....part of me, yes...But, new things have happened since he passed...my life has changed, and I suppose I need to stop fighting that change. And, I guess I'm curious again...about the future._

 _As am I._ Levi propped his elbow on the counter, cupping his pointed chin in his hand.

He spoke, then: "Mike likes beets."

"So?" she mouthed.

"He likes you, too."

"No," she flushed prettily beneath her freckles. "Stop it."

Levi signed, _Ask him out for a coffee._

"No!"

_Why not?_

Petra snorted. _I don't know. I'm....I'm just not sure I'm ready to get back into the whole...plumbing business again just yet._

_There's something wrong with your plumbing?_

_Levi, I mean sex!_

Levi made a noise, like a startled fox. _Who mentioned sex? I said, coffee!_

Petra looked away from him.

Levi poked her. _I think you like him. Big, strong guy like that._

Petra smacked Levi on the head with a periodical.

The bells attached to the library door jangled.

Levi turned.

A stranger stood in the doorway. Slender, fair-haired, wearing a green nylon windbreaker and workpants. He was young, bright-eyed and apple-cheeked from the cold. _Wholesome,_ Levi thought, _as though he'd stepped from the pages of the Co-op seed catalogue._

 _Good grief, what on earth is this?_ Levi signed to Petra. _Is it lost?_

 _Don't be so rude,_ she signed back.

 _Is there a school field-trip that I don't know about?_ Levi signed.

_Stop it._

The young man approached the desk, offering them a small smile.

Then, he raised his hands and signed, as well as speaking: "Hello...So sorry to interrupt your conversation. I'm hoping you can help me? I'm looking for Mrs. Bossard, the librarian? I understand she's also the town archives officer?"

Levi glared at the stranger. The young man's signing was rich, and nuanced. Not only did he use ASL, but also some gestures which were considered local vernacular.

"I'm Petra Bossard," Petra said brightly. "You must be Armin?"

"Yes," the young man nodded, in some relief. "I'm Armin Arlert, from Greenspace. Very pleased to meet you."

Armin Arlert spelled out his name, and then repeated 'Armin', attaching the word to a gesture. The gesture was his unique name-sign.

Levi remained stony-faced. No one had asked for this person's name-sign.

Petra looked, with some amusement, from Armin Arlert to her childhood friend, Levi. "I...we....are pleased to meet you as well, Armin. You sign?"

He nodded, signing and speaking: "Yes. I can hear, but my mom and Grandpa were deaf. My mom grew up in Norold, not far from here."

"Really?" Petra asked.

Levi crossed his arms, withdrawing from the conversation.

"Yes," Armin signed again, looking at Levi tentatively. "My family on my mom's side, are Peddles. My grandpa was Lorne Peddle. My mom was Maryann Peddle."

Levi looked out of the window, supremely annoyed. He wasn't sure if he found the boy forward, pretentious, intrusive, or all of these things.

He looked at Petra, refusing to acknowledge Armin.

 _You are obviously very busy,_ he signed curtly, turned on his heel and stalked out of the library.

__________

Outside, Levi stopped short, blinking against the glare of the late-morning sun. Mike Zacharius was still parked in front of the library, leaning against his truck and talking with young Farlan Church and Rollie Stroud.

Levi approached the other men. "Hi, Fart," he greeted Farlan, his cousin.

"Hey," Farlan nodded.

Levi jerked his thumb in the direction of the library. "Who's that kid in the library?"

"Oh, him. That's one of the guys from Greenspace." Farlan mumbled.

Levi toed him with his boot, shrugging. "Look at me so I can understand you."

"Sorry. Greenspace," Farlan enunciated more visibly.

"I gathered that..." he tapped Rollie, who was watching a little boy dragging a cardboard box with paper ears down Brock Street. Rollie started, then looked at Levi.

 _Greenspace,_ Levi spelled out. _What does he want with Petra?_

Rollie Stroud, who'd lost the best part of his hearing to a career as a boiler mechanic, signed back: _Well, there's to be a Town Hall Thursday night, about it. It's a bit complicated._

Levi rolled his eyes. _Try me. I'll do my best to follow along._

_Mayor Kirschstein's boy, Jean. He's chummy with that young fella, the freckled one. His parents have a cottage on Six Mile Bay. Summer people. Bodt, I think the name is. Nice kid._

"What're you guys talking about?" Mike Zacharius butted in.

"The Bodt boy!" said Rollie Stroud, rather loudly. "Town Hall!"

"Oh."

 _Anyway,_ Rollie signed, _that boy's dad has a law firm, down in Toronto._

Levi tilted his head back against the cab of Mike's truck, pretending to snore. He rolled his hand as if to say, _'yes, yes........and???'_

_Thing is...that law firm's taken an interest in our troubles._

"Oh?" Levi's expression was cold, alert.

_Yeah._

_Where'd you hear this?_

_Auction Barn. This law firm's commissioned a study of our water and soil. The firm believes our water table's been poisoned by dirty fill. Made people sick. Too may people in the Township the past ten years are born sick....or get sick._

"Or die," spat Levi. He signed carefully: _Another study won't come to anything. The Ministry will rule it inconclusive. The Farmers' Union will claim it's got no money to contest the findings. And people will stay sick. Around and around it goes, in a circle. Like always._

 _Maybe not,_ Rollie opined. _The Ministry has no control over Greenspace. Greenspace is a private company, hired by the lawyers, and they don't answer to the government. It's the first time a private company's come up here._

Levi sighed, a rattling sound, like a dried-up ghost.

__________

 _There's a kid sitting in my booth,_ Levi signed.

Jean Kirschstein, who worked at his family's diner, shrugged.

"He's in _my_ booth," Levi grumped out loud, just in case the fifty-or-so signs that Jean had memorized in service of his Deaf customers, did not cover trespassing.

Jean finished pouring boiling water into Levi's teapot, and looked around. "Levi," he said, "the place's all but empty."

Levi's eyes narrowed.

"He doesn't know it's your booth," Jean tried to placate Levi, "How's he supposed to know?"

Levi Ackerman picked up his pot of tea and walked over to the third booth from the door, by the window.

The sun streamed in through the plate glass, fiery-pale against the bent head. The young man sitting there was tapping furiously into a tablet.

Levi cleared his throat. The boy looked up. His features were sweet, puckish.

"Oh," he said, by way of greeting. "It's you."

Levi placed his teapot and cup down with a clank.

The boy held his hands up, to sign. _Did....did you want to sit down?_

_This is where I always sit._

He slid into the booth, opposite the boy from the library.

The boy appraised him, like a young cat sizing up an older, meaner tom. _Are you going to steal my lunch money now?_

_How much do you have?_

_Enough to spring for a sandwich?_ the boy, Armin, smiled prettily, _in return for letting me sit....in your booth?_

Levi removed his cap, setting it beside him on the bench seat.

They sat, regarding one another, for a long moment.

_Whose booth was this, before it became your booth?_

Levi was finding it difficult to ascertain if Armin Arlert was teasing him.

 _Charlie Church,_ Levi spelled out. _Went through the ice on Sheeps' Head Pond a few winters back._

__________

Documentation supported the fact that, in 1843, Emory Church and his wife Anna had arrived at the forks of the Church River in a canoe, which had also contained an axe, a shotgun, a sack of potatoes, and a bag of winter seed. Exhausted, the young English couple had thrown themselves onto the bank of the river, in the heart of this savage new world, and wept.

One-hundred and seventy three years later, the village of Church River boasted a population of 1,900 souls, which swelled in the summer months with the influx of cottagers and tourists.

Church River was the hub of a cluster of small Ontario farms; livestock, grain, orchards and eggs. The town was bisected by Brock Street, which ran parallel to the CN Rail line. Nearest the canal were the quaint tea rooms, gift shops and restaurants favoured by the summer tourists; the north end of town boasted the Co-op, the millwright, a low cluster of industrial buildings and the bus terminal.

The Town Hall was on Brock Street, across from the library, and was fronted by an impressive bronze statue of founder Emory Church.

Aside from the splashy decor applied by the lake gulls, the statue's one distinguishing feature was the toe of it's left boot, polished to a shine by the caresses of those entering or exiting the Town Hall.

It's a touch for luck, some said. It's a habit, others opined.

Levi did it because Farlan's dad, Gideon Church, had done so. Young Farlan did it to copy his older cousin, Levi.

Levi was one of the last to arrive for the Town Hall meeting. He eased in through the door, propped open with a cinderblock to allow some fresh air to circulate in the packed hall. The councillors' desks had been pushed to the outer edges of the room, and stackable wooden chairs had been brought up from the basement and arranged in loose rows. On top of the desks sat children whose parents had failed to find a sitter; tots in raincoats, their small fists shoved into bags of Goldfish crackers.

Levi smirked. The townsfolk, at least those who chose to concern themselves with civic matters, had arrayed themselves the same way that they did in church; the merchants near the front, on the left. The bingo widows in their netted hats on the right. The younger families scattered throughout the back, babies on shoulders, each studying the occupant of the row behind, wet fists crammed into mouths. The farmers stood along the back wall, as they might at the auction barn.

On the raised platform at the front of the hall was a long wooden table. It held some literature, and a few displays mounted on foam-core, with titles such as 'What is Clean Landfill?' and 'Water Table Evaluation and Management'.

At the table sat six individuals, all wearing forest green golf-shirts, with an embroidered Greenspace logo. In the centre of these sat a person sporting a mad auburn topknot, thick glasses and a white jacket.

To one side of the table, Mayor Uwe Kirschstein balanced his portly frame on a chair, and beside him, diminutive by comparison, was the librarian and archives officer, Petra Bossard.

Levi elbowed Mike Zacharius in the ribs. "Go say hi," he croaked.

Mike brought a large, spatulate hand down on top of Levi's head, threatening to twist and pop it off, like the head of a dandelion.

Mike faced Levi, looking down and asking, "So? You had lunch with one of them? What'd he say?"

Levi tried to look around Mike, so he could see the stage. "Move, you big ape."

Mike shifted, persisting. "Who's that person in the middle, in the white coat?"

Levi watched Armin Arlert, who sat on the stage. He was scribbling something onto the pad in front of him. Armin raised his eyes, without raising his head, appraising the throng of townspeople.

Deep blue eyes, Levi had noted at lunch, fringed with thick lashes. The boy had a tendency to stare, Levi had discovered. Curiosity, perhaps, or threat-assessment. Armin's intrusive nature was no attempt to manipulate or seduce; indeed, the young man was without social nuance. He'd stared at Levi, stripping something away from him, while at the same time drowning his french fries in a sea of ketchup, squeezed from a flatulent plastic bottle.

A bead of ketchup had then taken up residence in the corner of Armin's mouth for the duration of the lunch, which, for reasons unknown, had caused a dull ache between Levi's legs.

Armin had thumbed enthusiastically through his tablet, explaining to Levi that he was a technician with Greenspace, an environmental engineering company owned by Doctor Hanje Zoe. He'd explained about water tables, about soil filtering, about contaminated landfill being trucked up from Toronto's waterfront condo developers and dumped onto arable farmland.

As he'd spoken, Armin had curled one leg under his bottom, leaning over the tablet and pointing, as he warmed to his subject.

Levi had picked up his teacup carefully, holding it by the rim, and sipping. He'd enjoyed the heat of the tea, the smooth column of Armin's throat, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. For the first time in many years, Levi had had a craving to place his hand against another man's throat, in order to hear the vibration of his voice.

He'd shifted again, his erection pushing against his fly beneath the table.

He'd allowed Armin Arlert to pay for his lunch, and then graciously indicated that Armin was welcome to sit in his booth again, should the opportunity present itself in future.

 

 


	2. Armin I

"Oi!" Armin exclaimed aloud, "sheep!"

He was in the truck by himself, with no one to tease him about his enthusiasm. 

Armin signalled and pulled over to the side of Highway 36. He grabbed his camera and got out of the truck.

It was April, and the air was heavy with the earthy smell of the spring thaw. Armin filled his lungs slowly, savouring the sweet tang, and the silence.

The gravel shoulder crunched beneath his feet as he picked his way over to the fence.

"Hi, sheep!" he greeted them The animals turned, regarding him placidly.

Armin had an urbanite's fascination with rural life; the animals, the fall fairs, the old tractors, the above-average diner pie.

His time in the field had opened his eyes to its harsher realities; toxic landfill from encroaching urban growth, poisoned run-off, and disease. Farming was just as fraught with politics, regulations and legislation as any urban business.

However, the knowledge base that he was building as an environmental technician only served to sharpen his fascination with all things great and small.

"Come here, sheep!" he called again.

One of the sheep took a tentative step closer to Armin. Then, the entire flock began plodding toward the fence.

Armin held his camera up, snapping a few shots.

Two of the sheep leaned over the fence, regarding Armin curiously. Their hooves squelched in the muck. Armin took a portrait of each of them, chuckling delightedly to himself.

He looked down to view the images he'd captured, and something bright caught his eye. Wedged inside of a hawthorne hedge, was a nest. It held two small, speckled eggs.

Armin held his breath, regarding them. They were smooth and even and gorgeously blue; incongruous in a drab landscape. The afternoon was damp; chills fluttered across his skin inside of the windbreaker. The sheep munched and the crickets sang.

Armin took a few pictures of the nest, and then just stood there, at the side of the two-lane highway, an orphan with a camera and rubber boots.

__________

At length, Armin climbed back into the hybrid SUV. His phone buzzed. He looked at it, and tapped the screen.

"Hanje?" Armin answered the call.

"Hiya kid!" the Greenspace director sounded crackly, indistinct.

"Are you in Church River yet?" Hanje asked.

"No, soon...I'm on 36." Armin replied.

"I know!" Hanje laughed. "I can see you! Look up!"

Armin leaned sideways, craning to look out of the driver's side window. When he saw nothing, he got out of the car.

There, up to his left was a small, white Cessna airplane.

"You see me?"

Armin waved his arms, "Hiya, boss!"

"I'll take you up sometime this week. So...what're you doing, having a squirt?"

"No!" and then: "I'm taking pictures. Of sheep."

"Well, get a wriggle on! You're supposed to meet Mrs. Bossard in less than an hour!"

"On my way!" Armin watched the small aircraft peel off to the right. Hanje would be taking aerial photos of Church River, Norold and Wapassing. Spring was the best time for it; the landscape was denuded of snow, but the trees were still bare.

"Mrs. Bossard's waiting," Armin informed the sheep. "I have to go..."

__________

Armin hadn't been to Norold since his Grandpa's memorial. He'd seen the sign, at the side of the highway. _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ it read; a faded wooden billboard with a large, wagging sunflower atop it.

When he'd been little, he'd appeared in a local newspaper ad, for _Peddle's Feed and Seed_. It had been springtime, and he'd be photographed holding a struggling baby goat.

_"I want you to work in Church River," Director Hanje had instructed._

_"I can...although I know Norold much better?"_

_"I know, Armin. Church River is an interesting assignment. It has a watershed ridge running through it; it's hilly, mixed-use, and feeds into Buckhorn Lake. There is alot of data to mine there. I need someone who is observant, with a good memory. That's you."_

And so, Armin had found himself, not taking the Concession Road over to Norold, but travelling up Highway 36, rounding a bend, and entering the town of Church River, where the river forked.

He drove up Brock Street, toward the Town Hall with it's clock tower. Across the street from the Town Hall, was the Church River District Library.

It was a bright, chilly morning. Armin's belly rumbled; he'd missed breakfast, and he'd passed a diner which probably offered back-bacon sandwiches and thick-cut fries.

He parked in front of the library, beside a battered grey pickup truck. _M. Zacharius_ ,  _Maple Syrup & Honey _it was lettered.

The truck's tailgate was down. A young man sat on it. He was skinny and angular, with hair even paler than Armin's sticking out from beneath a wool hat. His feet swung idly. He was speaking to an older man in a quilted work shirt, the curly white hair on his neck more than atoning for the lack of any on his head.

"Morning," Armin greeted them as he passed.

The older man nodded at him. The younger sipped from a thermos, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

As he approached the library, the door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped outside.

He wore denim overalls, heavy boots and carried a library book. This made Armin smile.

"Good morning," he piped up.

"Hello, yourself!" the big man grinned at him.

Armin stepped into the library. It's smell transported him back to his childhood; rainy summer afternoons spent at the Norold Public Library with his Grandpa. The way the protective, plastic book covers crinkled deliciously - a sound that had seemed to enhance the content of the stories he'd read. The aroma of slightly-burned coffee, sitting fallow in a heated metal urn. The bulletin board with it's cardboard bookworm cutout and construction-paper letters: _Welcome to Our Library_.

Armin smiled, his throat thickening a little.

He pulled out his phone; he was five minutes late to meet Mrs. Bossard. She was the Church River Archives Officer. Armin imagined her as grey-haired and tidy, with the small-town habit of answering "Good," to the question of, "How are you?"

He glanced over at the intake desk, and stopped short, fascinated. A man and a woman stood on either side of the counter, having an animated, signed conversation, part ASL, part patois. The woman was pretty, with soft brown eyes and strawberry-blond hair, corralled neatly with a hairband.

The man, obviously a rural sort was compact, with a shock of dark hair, black as liquorice. The woman spoke aloud then, enunciating so that her lips could be read. The man's response was to laugh: a stark, wry sound.

Armin had expected to encounter a number of Deaf community members; there was the Summer Camp for the Deaf in Wapassing, and the Kawartha Centre for the Deaf in Norold Township. His grandpa, Lorne Peddle, had been born deaf, as had his mom, Maryann. His dad, Ansel, was a city boy. He'd been a camp counsellor at Buckhorn Lake the summer that he'd met Maryann Peddle - pretty and blonde - working at _Peddle's Feed and Seed_.

As Armin's grandpa Lorne told it, Ansel was a hippy-dippy college kid, long-haired and full of cheek.

He'd sauntered in to _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ , and slipped a note across the counter to the cute Deaf girl. Lorne Peddle had brought a large, hammy fist firmly down on top of the note, and then signed carefully to the prospective suitor: _When you can do Maryann the courtesy of addressing her in sign language, even if just the basics, you may ask her out._

Armin inhaled, and approached the pair. He raised his hands and signed, as he spoke: "Hello...So sorry to interrupt your conversation. I'm hoping you can help me? I'm looking for Mrs. Bossard, the librarian? I understand she's also the town archives officer?"

The man stopped signing, shutting hands and body down like a puppet with its strings cut. Armin snuck a cautious look at him. There was a delicate symmetry to his features. It was almost as though the gods had endeavoured to craft a perfect face, and then - capricious beings that they are - had lost interest, shoved him into a battered, checked workshirt, smeared a glaze of black stubble onto his chin and called it a day.

"I'm Petra Bossard," the young woman said brightly. "You must be Armin?"

"Yes," Armin exhaled. "I'm Armin Arlert, from Greenspace. Very pleased to meet you."

Armin Arlert spelled out his name, and then repeated 'Armin', attaching the word to a gesture. The gesture was his name-sign. It was a three-fingered downward movement of the wrist. His mom had signed it, on hot nights when he couldn't sleep, finishing it with her fingers tickling his forehead, or his chest. Armin, it meant. _Nobody else, but you._

Armin was pleased. He had a lot to say to Mrs. Bossard, and she seemed warm, and cheerful. The man, on the other hand, glared petulantly at Armin. His eyes were tapered and sharp grey, like water flowing beneath thin ice.

Within minutes the man, who was introduced as Levi, excused himself. Armin watched him leave. No matter. Armin was used to surly farmers. It was almost a hazard of the job. Greenspace's presence in a community was never welcome, at first; the farmers fearing they might be shut down, probed and questioned by outsiders who had no business there.

This man was no different. Only, he was. He was the sort of man that inhabited Armin's foggy space, between sleep and wakefulness; a place of private, pre-dawn squirming in his narrow bed.

__________

Within a week, Armin knew, there would be a three-dimensional digital map of the Kawartha Lakes region in Greenspace's master database. It would show hills, rivers, lakes and valleys. Over time, the team would overlay the map with new data: soil composition, water quality, land use. The inhabitants of Church River would be profiled to uncover any illnesses or issues that might be attributed to environmental toxicity.

It was up to Greenspace to introduce themselves to landowners in Church River, Norold and Wapassing, hoping these farmers would allow the technicians access to their properties, and to their lives.

"I still think you should send me to Norold," Armin had tried one last time with Hanje. "I have family there. They trust me."

"They will trust Connie, too. Connie is from a small town. He's easy to talk to. Relaxed."

"I'm relaxed!"

Hanje had laughed ironically, and hung up the phone.

Mrs. Bossard had walked with Armin across Brock Street to the Town Hall.

"So Armin...your team is working out at the airfield?"

Armin nodded. "Yes. In a hangar there. Although, the beauty of Greenspace is that we are a virtual company; as long as we have connectivity, we can work anywhere. What is important is that we establish a secure chain of custody for all of our samples....everything properly annotated, nothing contaminated. If we make an error, it can mean the difference between a plaintiff receiving compensation, or not. Or...between a contaminated site getting funding for clean-up. Or not."

Petra nodded, ushering Armin into the Town Hall and down a long corridor, lined with metal drawers.

"Well, here you are my young prince," she smiled, "the keys to the kingdom. Here are our maps, land transfer details, et cetera. Now...before I turn you loose, let me show you a map of Church River..."

Petra opened a long, flat drawer, pulling out a laminated map.

"In our database, you will find a number of maps online. But have a quick look at this."

She spread the map on a table.

"Now. Here we are," she pointed. "Church River. By the canal. Like most Ontario farming townships, everything is laid out like patchwork. Easy-peasy."

She pointed. "Here's my place. Hay, rye and local produce."

Armin pressed his lips together, unable to resist asking, "That uh...gentleman....Levi? He's your husband?"

Mrs. Bossard looked up. "Oh! Oh, _heavens_ , no! My Auruo passed away, three years ago."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bossard," Armin said softly.

"Please," she said kindly, "call me Petra."

"I know," she acknowledged, "It's a strange thing. A widow at twenty-nine. Who'd have imagined? Certainly not me. Auruo was only thirty-seven, himself. He contracted a respiratory infection. He died of pneumonia."

Armin nodded thoughtfully. "I see...again, I am _so_ sorry..."

Petra waved a hand at him gently.

"This here, this is Churchfarm. This is Levi's place. Cattle and sheep. In fact, most farms west of the town proper are owned by Churchs. Young Farlan Church and his wife Isabel, here. Gideon Church, Farlan's dad, is here. He's an egg farmer. Gideon is Levi's Uncle. His sister Kuchel, was Levi's mom. And this, this was Erwin Smith's place. He was...Levi's husband. He had orchards."

"Levi's hus–"

"Apples, pears, and market garden."

"Levi's _husband?_ "

"Erwin passed, too. Five years ago, this spring. Levi and I were only twenty-seven, then. Erwin was a little older. I think he was thirty-four?" Petra frowned.

"Erwin was...he was a special person, Armin...a leader in our little community. He tried his best to fight the landfills...to challenge the government studies, which he claimed were inaccurate, and corrupt. The red-tape was mind-boggling. He fought, and then when he got so sick, it became too much."

Armin stood, in the silence of the map room, tracing the plots of land with a finger.

"Now here," Petra tapped the map, "above the ridge line, this is Mike Zacharius' place. He has a sugar bush. Maple syrup. And he's also a bee-keeper. So, mostly Churchs, on the west side. Pucketts on the east. Mike Zacharius at the north end, and his property abuts the Anishnaabe. A few Peddles, but your folk are mostly in Norold..."

Armin had spent the morning with Petra Bossard; she'd proven to be a valuable resource, forthcoming and insightful.

She'd said no more about Levi Ackerman, which Armin found slightly disappointing.

__________

"I'm sorry," Hanje Zoë sounded uncharacteristically soft. "Armin, if you want to go to Norold, I understand. I can change your assignment."

"No!" he yelped hastily into the phone. "No, Hanje. Thank you, but I'll do as you've asked. I'll profile Church River."

"I'll switch you with Thomas. Thomas just got back from Honduras. He's nearly as strong in the field."

" _No,_ " Armin repeated emphatically. "No, no. I've already started working with Mrs. Bossard. I've started. Already. Here in Church River. I want to stay here."

"Well, this is a change of heart."

"Yes," Armin swallowed. "A change of heart. Exactly. I appreciate your patience."

"Fine. Tonight you'll meet Mayor Kirschstein. He and his wife run the hotel, on Brock Street, by the canal. And they own the diner. Your room is booked. And Armin..."

"Yes?"

"Try and keep distractions to a minimum...we have a lot of content to process."

"Yes, Hanje."

__________

The Town Hall meeting in any given community was usually the worst part; uneasy townspeople, and mixed agendae. In the case of a lawsuit, there would be one or more complainants, supporting Greenspace. There would be a number of objectors, certain that the investigation would hamper their activities, threatening their livelihoods. There would be jaded individuals, whose insurance claims had been denied, or whose requests had fallen on the deaf ears of a swamped Ministry.

Armin had no doubt that Director Hanje would be able to communicate Greenspace's message and intent.

_We are here, for you. Hammond and Bodt have retained us, to represent you, and help you. We are here to define toxins in your environment, and to design a clean-up plan. This township was clean, by all accounts, until approximately ten years ago. We will find out what happened._

Armin sat on an old office chair, on the stage. The office chair's adjustment bar was broken, and his toes just touched the wooden floor. The Town Hall was densely-packed, humming with conversation, smelling of floor polish and sweat.

He glanced up at the sea of faces, looking for...well, just _looking_.

"How was Norold today?" he asked Connie Springer, who sat beside him.

"Nice folk," Connie said amiably, "Flat terrain. They've built a new hockey arena."

"Did you meet anyone called Peddle?"

"Everyone's called Peddle."

Armin reached into a packet of Maltezers he had on the table. He popped a malt ball into his mouth.

"Want one?"

"Ugh, no."

He looked up, again.

_There he was._

_Levi._

He stood near the back, on the aisle, beside Mike Zacharius, the huge, overall-wearing beekeeper.

Levi leaned sideways against a wooden post, in a sinewy line, arms crossed in front of him. Watching Armin.

"Huh," Armin made a small sound, hand darting out for another malt ball. He fumbled with the packet, causing a number of malt balls to squirt out of the packet and onto the floor of the stage. Armin eyed them in horror, watching as a hound came up and sniffed at them.

"No, doggie!" he cried out, "No, stop! It's chocolate!"

He scrambled to his feet, picking up the goobery malt balls and depositing them into a waste bin.

He sat down again, wiping his palms nervously on the knees of his pants. He dared to look up again, at Levi Ackerman, who had been a most interesting lunch companion.

"Oops," the latter signed, carefully. And smiled. A row of even, white teeth, and one fine, arched eyebrow.

Armin sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. He looked behind him, to see if the sign might possibly have been intended for anyone else. No.

He smiled back, cheeks flushing. "Dogs," he signed, "can't have chocolate."

"No," Levi replied. Mike shifted then, obscuring Levi. He got a sharp elbow in his ribs for his trouble.

Levi reappeared, and added, "We can't all have a sweet thing, just because we want it."

Armin hunched over the folding table, belly on fire.

__________

Mayor Uwe Kirschstein sat on the stage, to Armin's left. Beside the mayor was Petra Bossard, Armin's new friend.

As Director Hanje spoke, addressing the assembly, Petra translated the comments, using ASL. She signed quickly, and expressively. Armin watched her, and also watched Levi.

_It had been difficult, during their impromptu lunch, for Armin to gauge Levi's position on environmental testing. He'd taken in Armin's comments, watching him quietly._

_Near the end of the lunch, the taciturn farmer no longer seemed aggressively angry, but neither had he been forthcoming._

_"I remember Lorne Peddle," Levi had said, out of the blue. "he won the county tractor pull, nearly every year."_

_Armin had nodded, laughing._

_"Big man. Big hands. You're not so big," Levi's tone was rounded, husky. "Are you in school?"_

_"School!" Armin had snorted. He had poked his tongue out, scrubbing at the ketchup in the corner of his mouth. "I'm twenty-five!"_

_"You don't look twenty-five."_

_Without missing a beat, Armin had signed,_ You don't look forty, either.

_"Hah!" Levi had seemed inordinately pleased with the joke._

"Rashes," Director Hanje had moved onto the health risks and symptoms of low-level toxicity, "chronic coughing, chest infections. Watch for red eyes and runny noses..."

Petra had shifted, her hands faltering a little.

"Those with weak or compromised immune systems are at risk, for example those individuals suffering from HIV, those taking immuno-suppressant medication, those with certain types of chronic leukemia, or respiratory disorders..."

 _Excuse me,_ Petra signed. She rose, pulling a tissue out of the pocket of her sweater. "Excuse me, I'm sorry..."she left the stage, walking up the aisle, unable to meet the eyes of her family and friends, unwilling to see the resurfacing pain of shared loss.

After a moment, Mike Zacharius had followed her out.

Armin looked around, then stood, said a few words to Director Hanji, and sat down in the chair that Petra had occupied.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, also signing. "All of us are sorry, for your losses. We..." he glanced at Hanje, "we are here, because we want to help. My name is Armin..." and he continued to sign, until Director Hanje concluded the presentation.

__________

The townspeople poured out of the Town Hall, chatting animatedly. Armin followed the crowd, out onto Brock Street.

"Want to get a burger?" he asked Connie.

"Sure."

"Okay. Just let me put these materials in the truck. Wait here."

Armin threaded his way through the parked cars in the gravel parking lot beside the Town Hall. He propped his armful of materials against the truck, fumbling for his keys. He succeeded in getting the door open, and plopped the presentation materials onto the back seat.

As he was closing the door, he heard a low whistle. His head shot up.

Levi Ackerman stood in between Armin's truck and the car beside it, silhouetted in the yellow street light.

Armin wasn't sure if Levi could see him well enough to read the sign he offered: "Is Mrs. Bossard okay?"

Levi approached, boots crunching on the gravel. "Yes, okay," he said to Armin.

In the dim space, Levi raised his hands. _You see me okay?_

Armin nodded.

_Good. I will help you with your work. You can come to Churchfarm. I'll sign the release._

Armin nodded vigorously. _Good. Great! Thank you!_

Levi closed the distance between them. _Armin. You are very enthusiastic. Please understand, this community has had its losses._

Armin signed: _Of course._

 _Please,_ Levi faced Armin. Armin had his back against the truck door. _Please Armin_ \- and Levi used his name-sign here - _do what you can to tread carefully with Mrs. Bossard. She is very special to us. Can you do that?_

The sharp eyes shone in the inky dark, peering at Armin from beneath the glossy black fringe.

Levi leaned in close; it was body-language; it attached emphasis to a signed request. Armin's breath froze in his chest, like a trapped bird. Then, the coarse warmth of Levi's stubble pressed against his cheek.

"I'm not anywhere near forty," the gravelly voice rasped in his ear. Levi rubbed his cheek slowly against Armin's. Armin inhaled; sweetness and strong soap. His skin throbbed.

He lifted a shaking hand, tapping Levi's shoulder. Levi raised his head, looking at Armin. "I'm not a kid," Armin mouthed.

Levi nodded; he was so close that the black fringe of hair tickled Armin's face. Armin closed his eyes.

The back of Levi's knuckles brushed against the thick bulge in Armin's work pants. "I know that."

"Armin!" Connie shouted, entering the lot, "Where are you? Lost?"

Armin's heart hammered. "Yeah, here! Wait!"

Levi Ackerman stepped black, melting into the dark.

Armin turned, pulling air into his lungs, resting his forehead against the car window.

Shaking, he zipped up his windbreaker, hiding the evidence of his arousal.

"Coming," he mouthed, although no sound came out.


	3. Armin II

Lindsay airport was a local airstrip at the south end of Sturgeon Lake. It catered primarily to small aircraft, and had four steel hangars at it's west end.

One of these hangars was now occupied by Greenspace Environmental Profiling.

Director Hanje gathered her full team of twenty inside the hangar on a cold April morning. The team consisted of seven field technicians, four medical consultants, four researchers, three paralegal assistants, assistant Rico Brezna and IT specialist Moblit Berner.

The air inside of the hangar was chilly. Armin wrapped his hands around his paper cup of coffee, nuzzling into the zipped-up collar of his polar fleece.

Connie Springer stood beside him, stamping his feet. "Shit," he mumbled, "It's cold enough in here to freeze the balls off a nun."

Armin snorted.

"Your cousins are really nice," Connie said.

"Where you staying?"

"Orville Peddle's."

Armin rolled up the paper rim of his coffee cup. The coffee franchise had a seasonal contest, where prizes were printed under the rims of their paper cups. "Oh! I won a free donut."

Connie fidgeted. "Your _one_ cousin...Sasha..."

Armin glanced at Connie sidelong. "What about Sasha?"

"She's..."

"I know."

"She's a bit _nuts_ , isn't she? She has the best laugh..."

"Conn, trust me. Don't go there..." Armin shook his head. He glanced out the small window, the rising sun pricking his eyes.

He wondered if Levi Ackerman was awake, and what he might be doing. He closed his eyes, revisiting the coarse warmth of Levi's cheek against his own.

"Armin!"

His eyes snapped open. Director Hanje, eyes bright behind safety glasses, was looking at him.

"Hanje, sorry!"

"Good morning, Sunshine. Are we ready to begin?"

Ten team members sat around a smoked glass table; the rest stood behind. At the head of the table sat Moblit Berner. He keyed an instruction into his tablet, and the table flickered, and then sprang to life, displaying a full aerial map of the area under investigation.

"Team, here is our map."

Armin studied the digital map with keen interest. Church River lay in the northeast quadrant of the map. Norold was to the northwest.

"Hartley Bodt," Hanje walked slowly around the table, "the prosecuting attorney, has a vested interest in this case. His summer property is on Lower Buckhorn Lake. He is a personal friend of Church River's mayor, Uwe Kirschstein. He has taken on similar cases of toxic waste mismanagement, in Bradford, and Barrie. And won. He's a thorn in the side of developers, and a nuisance to the Ministry. He does, however, have the backing of the building trades unions. They don't want their people sick, any more than the residents here want their families sick. You've all met the paralegals working with us? Some of you already know Marco?"

A tall, freckled young man raised a hand.

"Marco's group and the medical staff will be interviewing and profiling the individuals participating in the class action suit. Now. Field techs. What are your priorities in a case like this?"

"Accurately-documented locations, to within one square metre of drill sites," Thomas Wagner offered.

Armin cleared his throat, "Chain of custody. For any evidence to be admissible, there must be a secure chain of custody."

"Yes," Hanje nodded.

"Code of conduct," Mina Carolina offered. "Getting landowners onside, and securing permits correctly. Remembering that we are serving their interests."

"Good," Hanje nodded. "I can see that not everyone is asleep at the wheel. So. All data streams directly back to Moblit. Physical samples are given to Rico, or to myself. We will get the samples back to the lab, and the resultant data will then overlay our map, here. Soon, we will have profiles of soil quality, water quality, toxicity, occupant health....and we will be able to draw some connections. Questions?"

"Yes. Do we need appointments to do our surveys?"

"For interviews, yes. For field work, signed access permits. _Signed._ Understand, Armin and Connie?"

Snickers.

"No cutting corners. Do your paperwork."

Connie nodded.

"Lastly...safety. Proper gear in the field, at all times, no exceptions." Hanje looked around at her team. "Understood?"

"Yes, all clear."

"Good. Let's get started!"

Armin parted ways with Connie in the gravel lot at the south end of the hangar. He checked and rechecked his vehicle. In sturdy rubber bins were hanging files which contained all of his permit forms, field notebooks and maps. He had his tablet, in it's steel case. A boring tool, for soil samples. A full collection kit, inside of a biohazard chest. Field jacket, mask, goggles, gloves, extra gloves.

Satisfied, he pulled out of the lot, humming. His first stop would be the Church River Tim Horton's Coffee, to collect his free donut.

__________

In farm country, most people are at work well before seven in the morning. Armin drove up Highway 36, past his sheep friends and into the town of Church River. He pulled into the Tim Horton's drive thru, buying a coffee and a honey twist and continuing out of town, humming happily along to his ipod and sucking honey glaze off of his fingers.

His first stop was the Bossard farm. He pulled into the drive, following it around to where a new, ranch-style house sat on a hill, overlooking gently-sloping fields.

Petra Bossard sat on a large crate, at the edge of her garden, legs crossed and wrapped in an Oshawa Generals hockey blanket. A morning breeze stirred her blond hair.

Armin approached her. "Good morning, Mrs. Bossard," he smiled, "I brought you a coffee."

She smiled back at him; devoid of makeup, she looked girlish. "You've forgotten already. Call me Petra..."

"Petra, yes."

"Come, sit."

Armin sat beside Petra Bossard, on the crate. He looked backward, at the house, with it's deck. There was a porch swing on the deck, and some deep Muskoka chairs, by the fire pit. And yet, here Petra perched, on a wooden crate, by her garden.

"I won a donut this morning," Armin told her. Then, "I'm so sorry, about the Town Hall. I'm sorry we upset you...Director Hanje is blunt, but passionate about our work..."

"No," Petra patted his arm. "Please. I shouldn't have gotten upset. To be honest I don't, normally."

"Still..."

"Don't give it another thought, Armin. I don't end up in tears because I'm worried about my own circumstances...it's only that...occasionally...thinking about Auruo's courage gets to me. Auruo was incredibly brave, although most people might not remember him that way. He wasn't the best-looking guy in school. Nor the brightest. He wasn't overly-popular. Truthfully, he didn't think much of himself."

She shifted, pulling the hockey blanket around her shoulders. "Auruo looked up to Levi, even though they were of similar age."

Armin stole a glance at Petra.

"He even wore the same style of cravat, to weddings and such. My dad," Petra pointed out into her field, where a green John Deere tractor droned in the distance, "that's my dad out there, Boyd Ral. You'll meet him. My dad was always pestering Levi, to propose to me..." Petra smiled fondly.

Armin swallowed. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. In dad's opinion, we were a good match, because we enjoyed the same things. Because we were close friends. I'm not sure he ever understood that Levi was very much spoken for...and by the apple farmer, Erwin Smith! In the end, dad liked Auruo, well enough..."

Petra trailed off, watching the tractor. "You've lost someone too, Armin, haven't you?"

"I...well..."

"Someone close?"

Armin nodded, "Family."

"You know," Petra told him, "Auruo refused to stay indoors after he got sick. He worked the fields. When he could no longer drive the combine, he'd do what he could to maintain the equipment. When that became too much, he'd come out here, and sit on this crate. He wanted everyone to see that he wasn't giving up. And that...." she turned to look at Armin, "that thought is what got to me at the Town Hall, I suppose...the simple fact that this man, my husband, had such quiet courage, in the face of his own mortality...his own end...to come out and sit on this crate..."

Armin sat quietly with Petra Bossard, on Auruo's crate, absorbing what she'd shared.

Finally, he spoke, "Do many people know, that you're the person who initiated the lawsuit?"

She nodded. "Small town. Those that don't know, will soon enough. Erwin Smith began the process, and after he died, Auruo wanted us pick up the reins. When he died as well...after years of going around in circles with the Ministry and the township - Levi and I ran out of steam, for a while. Until Hartley Bodt came into the picture."

"And here we are."

"And here we are," she concurred. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"I'm here to collect soil and water samples," Armin told her. "I can get started as soon as you can sign your access permit."

__________

 _"Shoot. Fuck!"_ Armin stood at the back of his Greenspace vehicle, tailgate open, staring into the back hatch. "How? How did this happen? I can't fucking believe I forgot my boots. _My boots!_ Fuck me."

He sat on the tailgate, chewing on his lip. He didn't want to make the forty-five minute drive back to Lindsay, just to fetch his boots. That would be ninety minutes' wasted time.

"I'm a moron." he grumped.

He rummaged around in the back of the vehicle, finding a stash of plastic shopping bags. He sighed. These would have to do.

Armin fastened the shopping bags over his socks with orange safety tape, and jammed his feet back into his converse sneakers.

"Well, at least I'll stay dry," he said to no one in particular. He suited up, picked up his field case and trudged off, in the direction of the cistern.

__________

It was nearly noon by the time Armin finished collecting samples at the Bossard farm. He secured the samples in the back of his vehicle, taking a last look around. Satisfied, he got into the truck and headed to Churchfarm, Levi Ackerman's home.

"Hello," he said to himself in the truck. He cleared his throat. "Hi, Levi....Hey, Levi..."

He rolled his eyes. "Good afternoon, Levi..."

He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. Smiled. "We meet again, Levi," he mouthed clearly.

He screwed up his face. "You suck," he told himself.

Churchfarm was bordered by an ancient stone wall, and it's main entrance, gated. Armin approached the gate. It didn't open. He stopped the vehicle. Frowned.

"Yep?" A voice made him jump. He glanced about. An intercom was mounted beside the gate.

"Yeah," he shouted at it. "It's Armin Arlert."

A pause. "Who?"

Armin's mouth had suddenly gone dry. _Was he that forgettable? Was he even at the right place?_

"Isn't this Churchfarm?" he shouted. He looked up. The name _Churchfarm_ arched over the gate, in laser-cut steel letters. Armin shut his eyes. _Jesus._

"What d'you want?" asked the intercom.

"It's _Armin!_ From Greenspace! The survey company..."

A loud, braying laugh from the intercom. "I know! I know who y'are. I'm just fuckin' with you. It's Farlan Church, from the diner. We met after the Town Hall. You remember me?"

"Yeah," Armin was awash with relief. "I remember. Farlan and Isabel. You guys have the baby."

"Yep. Okay, so drive in, keep to the left, drive past the barn. I'll meet you there."

The gate ground open.

With a sigh, Armin got back into the truck, and drove through the gates and into Churchfarm.

The driveway at Churchfarm gradually rose, and then levelled off. The main house was a rambling, gingerbread-studded affair, with a wrap-around porch and gloss-black shutters. Down the road and through another gate was the north barn. This was a modern, steel facility, for dairy cattle. Across the property, beyond Armin's sightline, would be Farlan and Isabel's little house, and the sheep farm. A stand of trees led down through the orchard of the abutting property; the neat, modern house which had belonged to Erwin Smith. Lastly, on a sloping hill about the cistern and it's windmill, was a small stone chapel. The chapel had been built by town founder Emory Church; it had since been converted into a cottage, and this belonged to Levi.

Armin pulled up beside a large, steel dairy truck, at the end of the barn. Farlan Church came out to meet him.

"Hey Armin!" he waved. "How are ya?"

"Good," Armin answered automatically. "Fine," he amended.

"Good and fine," Farlan grinned, then coughed. "Come up to the house."

Armin glanced down at his plastic-bagged feet and sighed.

__________

Armin was sitting at the scarred, walnut table in the oversize kitchen and nursing a fresh coffee, when the back door banged open, and shut again.

Armin looked up.

Levi Ackerman stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing full waterproof overalls, a padded wool work shirt, and a dark scowl.

"Baler's acting up," he growled. "call Rollie Stroud."

"I did," Farlan replied, then remembered to turn around to face Levi and repeated, "I did!"

Levi shrugged off the suspenders of his overalls, stepping out of them and leaving them puddled on the threshold of the kitchen.

He nodded at Armin and at Isabel, who sat at the table, softly bouncing baby Kuchel.

 _So, Is Rollie Stroud coming to have a look at it?_ he signed impatiently.

Farlan turned both hands palms up. "I don't think so. He went to Bossard's."

"Why?"

"Petra's baler's acting up."

"Fuck me," Levi grumped. He turned to Armin then. _Sorry_ , he signed, _pardon me, Armin. How are you?_

He pulled off his glove, extending his hand to Armin. Armin looked up, into the hooded grey eyes. Levi squeezed his hand softly.

Levi walked over to Isabel, holding out his arms for the baby. Isabel gave the baby to Levi, stood, and stretched.

"Hi, Kiki," Levi said softly. He sat across from Armin. "This is my little cousin. She is named for my mother, Kuchel."

Armin examined the tiny face. "She's cute," Armin signed, and said the same thing to Isabel and Farlan.

"She's been sick," Isabel replied. "Coughs. Croupy coughing. Sometimes fever." she looked at her young husband, "Farley, too. Coughing, joint pains...tired all the time."

Isabel sat down again, taking the baby back. "Do you think there's a connection? I mean, between people being sick and bad water or something? Like Walkerton?"

Armin looked at the young family. "If there is," he said, "we'll find it. We are able to identify toxicity issues that sometimes get missed by Ministry testing, or by land developers' testing."

Farlan sat as well. "So Armin, we want to participate. But we have some concerns. He rubbed at his eyes. "For instance...if our land is toxic, does that mean we won't be able to get insurance anymore?"

Armin looked up. Levi watched him intently, over the rim of his teacup.

Armin signed, and spoke. "Greenspace is a private sector company. Hartley Bodt has retained us. We represent you, and your interests. What we discover, can impact you, yes. It can impact your insurance, and the value of your property. But..." he glanced at the baby, "when it comes to toxicity, ignorance is not bliss. In terms of your health...the only possible outcome from this investigation is improvement. That much is guaranteed. And, of course, the hope is that a settlement will be reached, and that there will be compensation. Money. Enough to clean up, and to compensate you for loss of health...and loss of life."

The family gathered around the table was silent; tension settling heavily in the kitchen.

"Farley," Isabel spoke, "let's do it."

Farlan looked at Levi. "The way our luck runs," he said clearly, "Isabel and me could end up with nothing."

Levi gave his head a firm shake. "You have me. You aren't alone. This company," he gestured at Armin, "does good work. This is our best chance to fix things."

Levi turned to Armin: _As discussed, I will sign your access permit. Our family will join the claim._

Armin nodded his head. _Good. I'll get started then. I have lots to do, so I'll be here at Churchfarm for a few days._

 Armin walked back out to his vehicle after meeting with Levi's family, and sat in the driver's seat. He exhaled. 

He picked up his tablet, logging in to Greenspace's website. Icons for Hanje and Rico popped up in the chat room.

 _The Bossard farm is done_ , he typed. _I'm at Churchfarm. When is the first batch of samples going out?_

 _Hiya - tomorrow morning._ Hanje responded.

 _The Church family is coming to the hangar for an interview,_ Armin added.

_OK. Our next briefing will be Wednesday. Can u have Churchfarm done by then?_

_I'll try, boss._

Armin logged off. He shrugged into his safety jacket, and pulled out his steel-encased tablet.

He strode past the barn, and onto the first of Levi's fallow fields. His foot oozed into the mud, and disappeared.

 _"Jesus Christ,"_ he hissed. He lifted his foot with a wet squelch, mincing another few steps.

At that point, he heard a sharp whistle. His head shot up, and he looked back at the house. Levi stood on the porch, beckoning to Armin.

Armin backed out of the mud, stamping and succeeding in splattering his coat, and cheeks.

"Ugh," he swiped at his cheek.

He traipsed back up to the house. There, on the porch, was a tall pair of black rubber boots. Armin pressed his lips together. He looked up. Levi stood inside, watching him through the screen door.

 _I didn't forget my boots,_ Armin signed crisply, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Surely, Levi would find his oversight unprofessional. _I didn't forget them...I planned on doing paperwork today, for the most part. And having a look around._

_You forgot your boots. Wear mine._

_No, I_...he dropped his hands.

 _Unless you prefer plastic bag shoes,_ Levi signed. _Those are snazzy. Where can I get some?_

Armin gave him a wan smile. _Thank you. For the boots._

_I'm annoyed with Farlan. He was supposed to call Rollie Stroud to fix my baler yesterday. Now, I have to do it, even though I'm too busy. I was planning to show you around. You'll have to go on your own. Stay on the east side of the orchard, and mind the donkey in the top field. Okay?_

_Okay. Thank you._

The boots fit Armin perfectly.

__________

Armin spent a good fifteen minutes staring at the topographic map of Churchfarm. He committed the terrain to memory, and then began to walk along the watershed.

Armin thought in strings; samples should follow a sequential order, and be methodically taken.

His core sampling took him over the ridge, and as far as she sheep pens.

"Hi, sheep," he greeted them. "I'm coming in, okay?"

He eased open the steel gate, securing it once inside, and giving it a shake for good measure.

He stood there, as the sheep watched him curiously. Eventually, the herd leader approached him, giving his boring tool a sniff, and a lick. Armin took a few careful steps. The sheep returned to nosing about the yard.

By late afternoon, Armin had filled one lab case, and documented his soil samples from the east side of themain property. He approached the house from the field side.

Isabel's car was gone. Only Levi's truck remained.

Armin heard a soft sound then, trickling, like rain. He approached the house, discovering it's source. There, at the side of the house, was an outdoor shower. It was finished in cedar, the steam rising from it capturing the wood's sweet smell. It had a white ceramic floor, two shower heads, and a door, which it's occupant had chosen to leave open.

Armin stopped, mid-step, his lips frozen in a soundless _'oh...'_

Levi Ackerman stood under the hot spray, his back to Armin. He had one arm straight out in front of him, braced against the cedar wall. His other hand scrubbed slowly through his black hair, massaging some unseen pain in his neck and shoulder.

Levi was solidly built, thick-shouldered and trim-waisted. Armin watched, boots sinking into the mud, as a soft cloud of soap meandered across the strong back, down the channel of Levi's spine, to slip between the taut, round buttocks. Levi shifted his weight, spine curving, glutes flexing.

 _I should just go. Right now._ Armin lifted a foot, heart hammering and groin aching like a bad tooth.

Levi turned his head slowly, regarding Armin.

Armin's chest rose and fell, like a sparrow trapped in a shoebox.

"Stay," the buzz of Levi's voice seemed to penetrate his bones, "Let me feed you."

 


	4. Levi II

Levi placed a gloved hand onto the hood of the baler's engine. He felt the vibration in his bones. The engine throbbed unevenly, and there was a recurring gurgle, not unlike a heart murmur.

 _A valve_ , he thought to himself. He shut off the baler, popping open the back panel and peering inside. The machine had barfed up black oil.

Levi growled, slamming the housing shut. _It's only four years old,_ he groused. _Fuck me._

He wiped his hands, and stomped up to the house.

In the farmhouse kitchen, Farlan and Isabel were sharing a pot of coffee with Armin Arlert. Farlan was laughing at something Armin was describing.

"Baler's acting up," Levi growled without preamble. "Call Rollie Stroud."

His cousin looked up at him. "I did," he mouthed.

Levi shrugged off the suspenders of his overalls, stepping out of them and leaving them puddled on the threshold of the kitchen.

He nodded at Armin and at Isabel, who sat at the table, softly bouncing baby Kuchel.

 _So, is Rollie Stroud coming to have a look at it?_  his slow, careful signing not disguising his impatience.

Farlan turned both hands palms up. "I dunno. He went to Bossard's."

"Why?"

"Petra's baler's acting up."

"Fuck me," Levi grumped.

Armin Arlert watched him quietly. He wore an acid green safety jacket, and his pale hair was pulled into a little nub behind his head. The smile had vanished; the young man sat very still, observing.

"Sorry," Levi exhaled. He pulled off his work gloves, and extended a hand to Armin. "How are you?"

Armin accepted the outstretched hand, regarding Levi with the same bald curiosity that Levi remembered from the diner. Levi squeezed his hand.

He let go and walked around the table, scooping up baby Kuchel. He touched his nose to her chest, and inhaled warm-baby smell. He smiled softly, and Isabel caught him.

"She smells like spit-up applesauce," he lied.

He sat at the table with his family, listening as Armin spoke and signed to communicate Greenspace's objectives. Armin was blunt, and thorough. He answered all of Isabel and Farlan's questions.

Levi shut his eyes. He shifted a little. The sharp pain inside of his belly seemed to scrape tissue as he did so.

He had skyped with Petra the previous evening.

_Where was Greenspace five years ago?_

Three blinking dots, for a long moment. And then she had responded: _I know. Where was Hartley Bodt when Erwin and Auruo wanted an investigation?_

Levi had stared at his bookcase, brow furrowed, trying the articulate what he was feeling.

_I feel like an ant hill that somebody kicked, and now everything is stirred up again. I've got an empty house, an untended orchard, and six bankers' boxes full of research in the attic. These things feel like a stone around my neck. Erwin would detest my inaction..._

_...I haven't moved Auruo's crate. It's still beside the garden._  Petra typed.

... _After Erwin died, I just ran out of steam, Petra. I couldn't manage everything. I had to keep the farm going._

... _I know. I'm thirty-two years old, and my dad works my land. There are some things I never learned how to fix. Auruo always did that. I feel like I've failed._

Levi responded: _...No. You are the person that started the ball rolling again, with Hartley Bodt and Greenspace. It should have been me._

He'd sat in an old wing-chair upholstered in faded french-ticking, the computer screen limning his delicate profile in blue.

 _...I'm so scared..._ he keyed slowly. _Farlan is sick, and Kiki is sick. Farlan coughs and he sounds just like Auruo._

There. It was said. The thing he most feared.

...

Dots. She hadn't replied.

__________

Levi stood on the porch after lunch on the day of Armin Arlert's arrival. He watched Armin, like a little Playmobil figure, mincing his way toward the east field.

He raised a hand, smacking Farlan's cap off of his head.

"What?" Farlan snorted, bending to retrieve his cap.

"The baler, " Levi growled. "I wanted it fixed last week."

Farlan shrugged. "Sorry. What's the bloody hurry?"

Levi jabbed a finger at the figure in his field.

 _I wanted to go with him_ he signed slowly. _I wanted to see what he's doing. Now I can't, because I have to deal with the fucking baler and do the north barn._

"I'll do the north barn," Farlan offered. He began to cough then, his slender frame wracked.

Levi put a hand on Farlan's shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he croaked.

__________

Levi could only stand another few minutes of Armin mincing through the mud with two plastic IGA bags on his feet.

He went to fetch his rubber boots, and put two fingers into his mouth, whistling sharply. Armin's head shot up. Levi beckoned him with a wave.

 _I didn't forget my boots_  Armin's signing was verging on snippy.

Levi grinned through the screen door. _Ah,_ he thought, _you don't have an arrogant bone in your body. You aren't self-important...but you need to be seen as competent. Interesting._

Levi had gone back down to the steel building that housed his equipment. He'd taken a few pictures of the baler, and sent these to Rollie Stroud. If Rollie was up to his eyes at Petra's, at least he might be able to offer Levi some advice.

A small buzz, at his wrist. Levi peered at his iWatch. He had an application which tracked the motion-sensors and cameras affixed to the various fences and enclosures that comprised Churchfarm.

He frowned, walking over to his laptop. Onscreen were six visuals of the property. He enlarged the image of his top field. Farlan was attempting to repair the gate. Remus, Levi's guard donkey, paced the perimeter of the field, watching Farlan warily.

 _Watch out for Remus,_ Levi typed into his phone, sending Farlan a message.

Moments later, Farlan reached into his jacket pocket, and looked at his phone. He flapped a hand into the air, knowing that Levi could see him onscreen.

As he did so, Remus brayed loudly, trotting toward the gate, head down. Farlan looked up, scrambling to his feet and squeezing through the half-hinged gate just in time to avoid a head-butt.

"Hah!" Levi barked in amusement.

Farlan leaned against the gate. Remus' nostrils flared, scenting Farlan. He ambled off, back into the flock of sheep that he protected.

 _istg i'm gonna barbq that motherfucker Levi!_ came a text across Levi's phone.

Levi snickered.

While he waited for Rollie Stroud's opinion on the baler, he took himself off to the north barn to begin the afternoon milking.

He walked along the edge of the east field. A bright object caught his eye. _Ah,  there by the creek. Armin._

Armin stood on the creek bank, motionless, head tilted. Levi stood still as well, watching.

A mourning dove alighted in a hawthorne bush not far from Armin, cooing softly. Armin imitated the cry exactly. When the dove replied, he smiled, delighted.

Unawares, he bent to his task again, drilling cylindrical samples from the riverbank, bending to examine the earth, letting it sift through his safety glove, and watching it fall.

Levi raised a hand, thinking he'd beckon Armin, but then hesitated. He smiled to himself, and walked on. The idea of being the older man in a potential pairing was a novel one; he was used to being the younger one, given lots of room to explore and bluster and rant, against the steady presence that had been Erwin. How Levi would serve to steady another evolving individual, was anyone's guess.

The refrigerated truck from the dairy arrived on schedule, at five-thirty. It backed up to the loading dock at the north barn, and Levi connected his hose to the truck's intake. The truck would take Churchfarm's milk to Kawartha Dairy, where it would be pasteurized and packaged. Some of Levi's yield would be processed into butter, cheese, ice-cream and milk solids.

Farlan chatted amiably with the driver. Once he'd left, Farlan turned to Levi.

"Remus nearly gotcha," Levi cackled.

"I swear to God," Farlan shook his head, "he's lucky I don't turn him into deep-dish donkey pie."

"What?"

"Deep. dish. donkey. pie." Farlan repeated. Mike Zacharius's crude signing popped into Levi's head. _Donkey sandwich._

 _He's an excellent guard donkey,_ Levi signed. _Understand?_

"Yeah, yeah."

_How many coyotes get near the sheep now?_

Farlan frowned, stumped by the sign.

"How many what?"

"Coyotes," Levi said huskily. "None. Remus is better than any dog."

Levi signed, _You want to eat?_

Farlan shook his head. "I'm taking Izzy to bingo. But thanks."

Levi finished closing down the north barn and made his way back to the equipment shed. He'd received a text back from Rollie Stroud; between Rollie's fat thumbs and auto-correct, the message made almost no sense. It amounted to unscrewing the valve to let off the pressure.

Levi reached into the baler, touching the valves carefully. He turned the coupler to the left. If anyone had been nearby, they would have remarked that the baler made a nasty hiss, shortly before Levi Ackerman was showered in a spume of motor oil.

Levi squawked furiously. He'd been hoping to speak to Armin; to possibly even extend a dinner invitation.

Levi levelled a sharp kick at the baler, slammed the sliding door shut, and strode up to the house, grousing and peeling off oil-splattered garments as he went.

He stepped into the outdoor shower, too annoyed to feel the cold spring air on his skin, and twisted the knobs. He stood, stark still, beneath the steaming spray, allowing the tantrum to dissipate, like an empty thunderhead.

He scrubbed his hair with carbolic soap and a splash of Dawn detergent, to loosen the oil. He lathered his skin, tensions easing.

He was blowing up too easily, of late. As Greenspace was setting about unearthing the toxins beneath the pastoral landscape, so were the toxins within Levi leaching out; heartache, regret, confusion. It was time for....

_Oh._

Out of the corner of his eye, Levi caught a glimpse of acid green.

_The boy was watching him._

He waited a moment, to see if Armin might scurry by. He didn't.

Levi's heart thudded. He snuck a look at Armin. The boy's cheeks were stained pink, blue eyes penetrating in his mud-smeared face.

Levi allowed himself a bemused smirk. Unless he was wildly misinterpreting the signals, the attraction he felt toward Armin was returned. Levi scrubbed slowly at his shoulder, allowing this idea some breathing room.

He shifted his weight, enjoying the sensation of Armin's eyes on him. His belly knotted pleasantly, cock stirring.

Finally, he turned his head. "Stay," he said softly, "Let me feed you."

__________

Levi grabbed the towel he'd slung over the cedar wall of the shower, wrapping it around his middle, and stepping into a pair of flip-flops.

"Come," he said without fanfare, walking around the corner of the house. Armin followed.

 _Leave your gear in the mudroom,_ Levi signed, _Did you want a shower?_

Armin shook his head vigorously, intrigued and terrified.

_Okay. Let me dress. There is beer and cider in the fridge._

Levi went upstairs and pulled on jeans and a grey zippered sweatshirt. He made a face at himself in the mirror. He rummaged in his dresser drawer, coming up with a smoke-blue Henley. Better.

He found Armin sitting at the island in the kitchen. He'd visited the downstairs bathroom, washed his hands and face, pulled his hair out of it's tether and combed it.

He looked at Levi. "Can I do anything?" he mouthed.

Levi opened the fridge, extracted two ciders, popping their tops off against the worn laminate counter. He put one in front of Armin.

He signed: _I would love it...if you would do me the great favour of a decent signed conversation...it's been ages since I've had one. Reading Farlan's flapping gums all day, day-in and day-out, can get exhausting._

 _Absolutely,_ Armin signed. _I'd like that._

 _Hungry?_ Levi signed.

Armin made a cute gesture to indicate that he was famished.

Levi removed mushrooms and carrots from the fridge. _Slice them fine_ , he instructed.

He took a ball of pastry out of the fridge, plopping it onto the counter.

 _I can make a nice beef pie_ , he told Armin. _You're not a vegetarian, are you? Because we can always do a leek torte._

Armin shook his head. _Not strictly a vegetarian. One of my mums is._

_Mums?_

_Well, my guardians. You know Dr. Hanje? She and her wife, Rico have taken care of me since I was ten._

_I see,_ Levi took a pull on his cider and leaned against the sink, watching Armin slice the mushrooms fine, as instructed.

 _You were raised Deaf._  It was more of a statement than a question.

_Yes. By my birth mum and my Grandpa._

_You made Farlan laugh a lot today. Do you speak in the same cadence with which you sign?_

_What do you mean?_ Armin questioned.

Levi chuckled. _You're incredibly articulate, but also irreverent of structure...I suppose you sign in run-on sentences, if that is even possible. You get very excited. I almost want to remind you to breathe._

Armin bit his lip. _I suppose I do!_

Levi raised his cider bottle. _Well, here's to an enjoyable evening...you_ are _old enough to drink, aren't you?_

Armin stuck his tongue out at Levi.

_Brat._

__________

Armin attacked his beef pie with the same zeal he applied to everything else. He stabbed at his salad with enthusiasm, appreciating the spring fiddleheads and dandelion that Levi had included.

He stopped, dropping his cutlery long enough to sign: _Oh my God, so amazing! So nice! This is such a treat. Everything local and delicious...where did you learn to cook?_

_I learned a lot from my mother, Kuchel. And a great deal from my late husband, Erwin. I don't cook from scratch for myself, all the time. Sometimes just a sandwich. Or soup._

_Erwin,_ Armin made the name-sign carefully. Erwin Smith.

Levi nodded.

 _I'm so sorry,_ Armin signed simply. He did not offer any platitudes, nor did he try to commiserate, although Levi knew full well that he could have.

 _Thank you,_ Levi nodded. _You will hear alot about Erwin. He is part of me. He is a presence in our community. We all miss him every day._

Armin nodded, watching Levi.

 _My mom,_  Armin signed carefully, _knew how to make soap. She made beautiful soaps. She put them in our dressers. And in the linen closet. Sometimes, the smell of lavender soap reminds me of her, so strongly..._

_That sounds nice. Erwin tried to make pickles once. He didn't understand how to do it. So all the fucking jars exploded._

Armin giggled.

They finished the meal in companionable silence. Under the table, Armin extended his legs across the space between them, nestling his socked feet comfortably between Levi's.

__________

Levi planted Armin in his study, lit a fire in the small fireplace and went out to make his evening rounds. Finding everything in order, he rode his ATV back to the house.

The sight of the house lights blazing cheerily caused a lump to well in his throat. _What to do,_ he mused, _when life doesn't fit together neatly? Smash the puzzle pieces with a fist, or file the edges carefully, until they mate smoothly?_

Armin was curled in the recliner, under a pile of books. He looked up when Levi entered. Levi hesitated, inhaling slowly. Here he was...this inquisitive, blunt, sweet-natured creature, who had not forced his way into any preoccupied space; he'd not rampaged through Levi's delicate memories, picking up pictures and pawing at treasures. He'd not prodded Levi with painful questions. His curiosity, it seemed, was tempered by reserve, when it came to matters of the heart.Armin's energy was empathetic, rather than sympathetic.

Armin held up his hands, and his signing was gentle. _Is everything okay, Levi?_

Levi smiled. _Yes. Perfectly okay._

Levi sat, opposite Armin. _What have you got there?_

 _Well,_ Armin held up a copy of Moby Dick. _This. And Don Quixote. I love Cervantes._

 _You do?_ Levi settled into his chair. _Do you have a favourite passage?_  

Armin nodded. _I know it by heart: "Take my advice and live for a long, long time. Because the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die."_

Levi nodded slowly, watching the fire, eyes misting over.

Armin continued signing, _Or this one:_

 _To exist after a loss, is commendable. To truly love after a loss...to allow one's garden to grow again, from...._ he paused... _from scorched earth, and to thrive without guilt, takes resolve._

Levi stared at Armin. _You like that?_

_Yes. To thrive without guilt. I get that..._

_Who are you quoting?_ Levi asked.

Armin held up a dog-eared copy of a novel. _Rain on Roots,_ it was called. 

 _Churchill Smith is the author_ , Armin said. _You have two of his novels._

_Do you like that author?_

_Yes! He is brutally spare when he writes. It hurts my skin, he's so good. He wrote two novels, that I know of. Is there a third?_

_No._ Levi shook his head.

_Are you positive?_

_Yes._

_How can you be so sure?_ Armin asked. _With digital publishing, it's hard to keep abreast of these things._

_I'm very sure. I am Churchill Smith._

"You? _You're_ Churchill Smith?" Armin squawked. He jabbed a finger at Levi.

 _I am,_ Levi nodded. _Churchill is my middle name. Smith was my married name._

"You. Churchill Smith."

_Me. Churchill Smith. I've very pleased that you like my writing._

Armin was silent for a long moment. _That sort of makes sense,_ he concluded.

Levi waited.

 _There's something...I don't know...settled about many of the farmers I've met. Like Mike, the syrup guy. Or Rollie Stroud...a sort of contentment. They are at peace with the natural order of things. My Grandpa was like that. So was my mom. But you..._ he leaned forward, _you have a sort of restlessness. I couldn't put my finger on it._

"You know an awful lot, for twenty-four," Levi raised an eyebrow.

He rose, picked up the fire poker and carefully repositioned the logs in the grate.

He straightened, to find Armin standing in front of him. Armin's chest rose and fell, his hands poised uncertainly in limbo.

_I...Levi..._

Levi watched him patiently.

Armin took a step forward, something more akin to a lunge, and tromped on Levi's feet. He tottered backward clumsily, face a misery of apology.

Levi carefully replaced the fire poker.

 _Would it help,_ he signed carefully, _if I stand very still?_

 _I...yes_ , Armin's hands were shaking. _Yes. And..._

_And?_

_Close your eyes._

Levi obliged him. He felt the young man's trembling hands touch his shoulders, as if gauging his exact location in time and space. Then, he was drawn into a hug, a soft huff of breath ghosting against his cheek. A nuzzle, and then lips, kissing his unshaven cheek softly. Levi, so used to air-dancing alone, raised his arms and wrapped them around the slender back.

One hand traveled upward, sliding into the pale hair. A soft vibration buzzed against his arms; the boy's moan.

And then, Armin's mouth, hungry and intrepid, trying to fit to his own.

Arousal, sudden as spring sap rushed to Levi's groin. He tilted Armin's head forcibly, locking the soft wet kiss, pushing his tongue into the boy's mouth until Armin swayed against him like windblown laundry.

Rhythmic vibrations buzzed in his mouth, against his face, in his bones as Armin cried out.

"Armin," Levi gasped for the first time, the rough word scraping against Armin's face, "Armin..."

He pulled Armin close, mouth sucking gently at the pointed chin, teeth bruising the soft skin of Armin's throat.

Levi's lips found Armin's in a slow, deep kiss; his hands gripped the small, rounded ass.

Armin panted and rubbed against him, his sweet heat igniting a fire, small and new and hopeful.

 


	5. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. A note that the fic's rating has been changed to explicit...going forward, content is 18+...govern yourselves accordingly ;-).
> 
> I am so incredibly grateful for the feedback on this story...each and every comment has been so impactful. Your words have encouraged me, more than I can say. I love this ship. I love the possibility of their shared, caustic wit, of their emotional fumbling. The eccentricity of each is somehow magnified when they are together; and their chemistry runs so deep.
> 
> Much more to come...

"Armin!"

"Hey, Con."

"Nobody told me!" Connie exclaimed. He plunked himself into the chair beside Armin, at Greenspace's large monitor table inside of the airport hangar.

Armin sat cross-legged in his bucket chair, a book balanced on one knee. He didn't look up.

"Nobody told you what?"

Connie flicked Armin's elbow. " _Shirts and ties._ I didn't know. Who's coming?"

Armin looked up. Blinked. "Coming? No one."

Connie rotated himself absently in the chair. He stopped, regarding Armin as another possibility presented itself.

"Arm, nobody died, did they?"

"Why?" Armin furrowed his brow.

"Because! I can't remember the last time I saw you in a shirt and tie, is all."

"Oh," Armin smoothed the front of his grey button-down shirt self-consciously. He'd paired it with a tie that had a fine dot, and dark twill slacks. He'd combed his hair carefully, scooping the front section back into a small steel clip. Connie wheeled himself closer. He noted the small, steel cartilage studs in the tops of Armin's ears.

"You smell nice," he teased. "Got a date?"

"No!" Armin hissed. His cheeks burned. "Got to look...professional from time to time, right?"

Connie leaned back in his chair, opening his arms to display his _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ t-shirt.

"Check me out," he grinned. "Look, Armin! I'm one of your peeps, now."

"My..." in spite of himself, Armin snickered. "My _peeps?_ Are you a Norold peep?"

Connie nodded. "Sasha gave it to me."

"Uh huh," Armin replied.

Connie poked the book in Armin's hand. "Whatcha reading?"

Armin held up the book.

" _Rain on Roots_ ," Connie read, "by Churchill Smith." He peered at the spine label. "Is that a library book?" he kicked Armin's chair gently. "Did you sign that out of the Church River District Library?"

"Maybe," Armin pulled the book closer to his chest.

"Dorky-dork-dork..."

"At least I," Armin hissed, "don't have _Digimon_  cards in my field binder. Does Sasha know about those?"

Stymied, Connie shut his mouth for a moment. Then: "What's the book about?"

"It's by a local author. I'm re-reading it, actually. Sometimes you get a different impression, the second time you read something. It's about these two brothers. Kenny and Linwood. They're carnies."

"They're what?"

"Carnies. Itinerant carnival workers. They travel all over Canada and the States, setting up midway rides and games at fairs. When each fair is over, they tear it all down again and move on."

Connie stopped twirling and listened.

"Every year, the carnies come to the same little Ontario towns. One of them, Lin, is deaf. He's in love with a local girl, only nobody knows."

"Sounds like a snorefest."

"No!" Armin shook his head. "Not how this guy writes. Stripped down, and vivid..."

"What happens at the end?"

Armin closed the book slowly. He seemed lost in thought. "It's sad. There's a little boy in the book, who is eight..."

"Boss on deck!" Connie wheeled back to his place at the table. "Don't let Hanje see your ears, stud-muffin."

Armin took out his laptop and opened it. His screensaver was a picture he'd taken one summer, at his Grandpa's farm. A low, evening sun, gleaming through gossamer dandelion heads, setting them ablaze.

He'd spent three weeks of every summer at his Grandpa Lorne's. He'd learned how to fly fish. He'd climbed trees and skinned his knees. He'd run around the granary, chasing the feral cats that lived there.

"Good morning, Greenspace!" Dr. Hanje Zoe strode into the hangar, crisp white coat snapping with purpose. Armin glanced up. After sixteen years in Hanje's care, he'd never been able to ascertain if her fierce, bristly topknot was a chief's talisman, or just the product of a busy life, a brilliant mind, and no mirrors.

"Mr. Arlert," she singled him out cheerfully, "how's life in clay country with no boots?"

She thumped Armin's forgotten yellow boots onto the table in front of him.

"Mr. Springer!" she paused in front of Connie. "No more booze-fuelled selfies with the locals, please and thank-you!"

"It's not really _booze_...see...it's moonshi-"

"Mr. Bodt. Where are we at with the plaintiff list?"

Marco Bodt passed a folder toward Dr. Hanje. "Thirty-seven."

Hanje stopped. "Wow." she nodded. "Excellent. And at the same time, horrible. Thirty seven families in this district are grappling with sickness, loss of livelihood, loss of life." The Greenspace director stopped, letting her words sink in.

"We have our first wave of data. Dim the lights, please. The overhead lights were turned off, and the large table monitor flickered, and then flared to life. There, in brilliant colour, was a map which comprised Church River, Norold, Wapassing and surrounding area.

The field technicians bent over the map in keen interest, having walked the land, and having met it's inhabitants.

"Churchfarm," Armin breathed. There was Levi's farm. Also the Bossard farm, and Mike Zacharius' sugar bush.

"First, aerial topography," Dr. Hanje indicated. "And now we overlay land use," An added wash of transparent colour was added to the base map. "Dairy. Agriculture. Mixed use...and...finally, the results of our first toxicity tests. At present, we have fifty-five percent of our data, from field samples..."

The map flicked again. The new overlay contained some green zones; green represented clean soil, water and air. There were numerous yellow zones, which indicated areas of moderate concern. However, the map also showed twelve to fifteen angry red blotches; these were toxic zones.

Armin regarded the map soberly.

"We have four weeks," Dr. Hanje continued. "Four weeks to complete collections and interviews. Then, our real work begins. Examining the data. Forming connections. Preparing presentations, testifying in court. And finally, developing a strategy for area recovery. This last," Hanje noted emphatically, "we will do, regardless of legal outcomes. We aren't leaving here without equipping this township with a plan for change.  Armin. _Armin!_ "

Armin's head shot up. Guiltily, he lowered his library book.

"Are we boring you, Mr. Arlert?"

"I'm sorry. Yes, the process steps. Corroborate data. Dissemination. Recommendations."

"I want all of your data on Church River within ten days. Including the ridge line, right up to Concession Ten."

"Yes, Dr. Hanje!" Armin straightened up, the image of Petra Bossard sitting on Auruo's overturned crate, pricking at his conscience.

__________

"There!" Rollie Stroud nodded his head in satisfaction. "All cleaned up."

"Hrumph," Levi peered into the baler's engine.

Rollie signed: _Didn't you receive my text? I told you how to purge the line._

 _I purged the line,_ Levi's gestures were flippant, _All over my face._

He wiped his hands on an oilcloth and stuffed the rag into the pocket of his overalls. _You want to buy it?_

 _No._ Rollie Stroud stepped outside of the equipment building and lit a smoke. _What d'you want to sell it for?_

 _I want a round baler. Less labour intensive. One person can bale a field without...without help_ , Levi finished, his hands dropping listlessly.

Rollie regarding him quietly.

 _I'm headed over to Norold this morning,_ Rollie Peddle indicated. _You want to come?_

"Nah." Levi flapped a hand dismissively.

_Going over to Peddle's. I heard Reynaud Joice is looking for a baler._

Levi frowned. He hadn't been to Norold in ages. He bought his seed at the Church River Coop, so he'd never had much occasion to run into Lorne Peddle, nor his sister Vivian. Armin's family.

 _On second thought, sure,_ he nodded.

__________

The town of Norold was situated on an ancient floodplain, and was as flat as Church River was hilly. It boasted a Spring Lilac Festival put on by the Rotary Club, a new hockey arena, and the Norold Fall Fair. Lorne Peddle had won the Fall Fair tractor pull for the better part of two decades, before a heart attack had felled him eight years prior.

His sister Viv, now the proprietor of _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ , had stepped into the breach and won not only the Norold Fall Fair tractor pull title, but the Kawartha & District Championship, two years running.

 _Levi Ackerman!_ she signed his name-sign, with a broad flourish that was akin to yelling,  _What's you up to?_

 _About five-foot-four, in boots,_ Levi responded. He stepped to the counter, holding out his hand. Vivian Peddle clasped it in both of hers. Her eyes were luminous and blue, like those of her great-nephew, Armin.

Levi felt a little lurch of curiosity and found himself smiling. He extracted his hand gently, in order to greet her properly.

 _Hi Vivian_ , he signed, _It's good to see you._

She signed back, _You don't get over to Norold too often, anymore. The fruit tree graft seedlings just came in. Put me in mind of your Erwin._

Levi smiled. _Thank you,_ he signed. Then:  _So, I heard Rey might be looking to buy a square baler?_

_Yeah, maybe._

Levi looked around _Peddle's Feed & Seed_, curiously. An enormous display of framed photos banked the wall behind the feed store's counter; six decades of family, friends and community.

Levi took a breath and signed, _I've got your Armin working over at my place._

 _Oh!_ Viv smiled brightly, _Armin! He hasn't been to see me yet. He's coming for a meal next week. He and his mums._

_His....?_

_Hanje and Ree. Rico. Bless them. I never liked the word 'guardians'. Don't sound like family. The girls are family._

Viv turned then, pulling a picture off of the wall. She handed it to Levi. A tiny, bare-chested boy of about five, with white-pale hair, face scrunched with the effort of hoisting a squirming baby goat.

_Here's our Armin. He's about five, here. This's how I always think of him. I forget, he's all grown now..._

Another image, Armin, asleep in his mother's lap, a cast on his arm, tiny sneakered feet hanging forlornly.

Levi's expression softened.

_You maybe don't remember our Maryann. Lorne's girl. She moved to the city with her husband, must have been in '86? Beautiful girl. God rest both her and Ansel._

Levi looked up at Vivian Peddle, a question in his eyes.

 _Nine-eleven,_ Vivian signed. _They were in New York, attending a conference on the environment. World Trade Centre..._

"Oh!" Levi exclaimed. He frowned, studying the picture with renewed interest.

_Poor little mite was only nine. Nine and awkward and undersized and bullied. Hanje was a godsend to that child. So was our Lorne. He loved Armin to pieces._

Levi swallowed. He signed carefully, _Armin is a very nice young man. Very smart. I...am enjoying his company._

Levi pulled out his phone. _Viv, you want me to send you some pictures of that baler?_

_Sure thing, Levi. I'll show Rey. You take good care of our kid! Give him our love._

__________

As Armin was packing up after a morning at Lew Puckett's hog farm, it began to rain. Large, fat drops splatting into the clay. He took his leave of Mr. Puckett, got into his Greenspace SUV and headed off to Churchfarm.

By the time he reached Highway 36, he had his wipers on full blast, against the rain sheeting his windshield. The SUV skidded alarmingly, hydroplaning on the soaked highway.

Armin clenched the wheel, gritting his teeth until the iron gates of Churchfarm came into view. He slid into the driveway. Thankfully, someone had left the gate open for him. Feeling the mud suck at his tires, Armin gunned the engine. He zigzagged up the drive, losing control at the top of the rise and fishtailing in a complete circle, to stop with a screech between the house and the barn.

He sat still, panting, regarding the rain hammering against the glass. 

Finally, he pulled up his hood, stepped out and ran in through the back door of the house.

Farlan was at the window, doubled over with laughter, wheezing and crying. "Aaaarmin!"

Armin looked out at his mud-splattered SUV.

"Armin!" Farlan gestured helplessly, "Fuck, that was funny…" Farlan made a circling gesture with his arm. "Armin, you little maniac!"

"Sometimes, there is only one was up a slippery slope," Armin informed him.

Farlan shook his head. "I got to go get Bel in town...Levi made lunch."

Armin shrugged out of his jacket.

"Shoot," Farlan looked Armin over, "Nice suit. Who died?"

Armin looked down at himself. "Uh..."

But Farlan Church had already shrugged into his storm coat and banged out of the mudroom, whistling.

 

__________ 

Armin walked into the kitchen. The air was warm and thick; lentil soup with bacon.

"Mmmm," he smiled.

He looked up to see Levi on the threshold, entering from the living room.

Armin signed Levi's name sign, attaching a soft hello to the end.

Levi watched him, silently. Then, "I went to Norold."

"Oh! Did you see anyone?"

"Viv Peddle."

"Is she..." Armin began.

Levi crossed the floor, closing the space between them. He stood before Armin, his grey eyes searching Armin's face, taking in the little details of his ensemble: the clip in his hair, the tiny ear studs. The tie with it's careful tie-tack.

He raised a hand, smoothing Armin's hair tenderly. His fingers brushed the shirt collar, the knot in Armin's tie, the soft skin above it.

Some fragile thing broke within him then; the thin membrane buffering his heart. He saw Armin's awkward brilliance, his tenacity, his delicacy, pulled into sharp focus.

He did not pretend to misunderstand the young man's careful attire, nor his intention.

"You," he said aloud, "you look very stylish, today."

Levi's leaned in, his lips brushing Armin's in a soft kiss. "Fuck, I'm hard. I made you some soup."

Armin held his hands up. _Thank you,_ he signed. _Thank you for liking my outfit. Everybody thinks I'm going to a funeral._

Levi pressed close, nipping at Armin's bottom lip. He pulled back, signing, _All that is missing is some lovely plastic-bag shoes._

"Hah!" he barked then, amused at his own joke. "Come...."

Levi sat at the table, watching Armin devour two bowls of soup, like a little werewolf in business casual.

 _Your table manners are atrocious,_ Levi observed.

 _Everything you make tastes so good._ Armin set his spoon down in his empty bowl. _Thank you. It tastes like...home._

Armin wiped his chin. He reached into his knapsack, plopping his library book onto the table.

 _You went to the library?_ Levi's expression was bemused. _I could have given you a copy._

_I didn't want to pester you about it._

_It's no bother. We writers are all vain assholes. You're reading it again?_

Armin nodded, his cheeks stuffed with sourdough. He tapped the cover with his index finger. Swallowed.

_You use a pen name. Is that because you want privacy? Distance from the work?_

Levi shrugged. _Nah. I just thought Churchill Smith sounded well-hung._

Armin snorted. _Can I ask you about the story?_

Levi paused, pensive. _Yes._

_Is it...a true story?_

Levi stood, picking up the soup bowls and rinsing them. He turned, leaning against the sink.

_As far as I can piece together...it is a true story. It is my family's story._

He held out a hand. Come upstairs," he said to Armin. "I want to show you something."

At the top of the stairs was a narrow hall. At the end of this hall, a small bedroom, with a dormer ceiling. The room had two windows, and these looked out onto a wooden verandah that wound around the upper level, and was accessed by means of an outside staircase.

The room was stark; it held a child's dresser and a single spool bed, with a worn patchwork quilt.

On the wall, in various places, crude drawings by the room's former inhabitant; cows, cats and spaceships, in felt-tipped pen. There was a little closet, the interior of which was wallpapered in a pattern of strawberry vines. Whomever had painted the room pale yellow for the child, hadn't been bothered about removing the wallpaper.

Armin stepped inside, looking around. The room had a nostalgic melancholy to it.

 _Sit down_ , Levi gestured to the bed.

Armin looked up. He signed: _This is...?_

 _My room,_ Levi's gestured. _Yes, my room when I was a little boy. My mom and I lived in this house, with Farlan's mum and dad._

Levi entered the closet, stooped down and banged on one of the floorboards. He loosened it, and brought up a square metal biscuit tin.

Armin watched him with keen interest.

Levi sat on the bed, facing Armin, with his legs crossed and the biscuit tin in his lap.

He began to sign:

_Did anything ever happen to you, when you were very little, that you thought you had imagined? Something that, looking back, was a strange thing, but as a child, you'd just accepted it, at face value?_

_When I was small...I had a friend. A man. I used to hear him, outside my room at night, on the verandah._

Armin touched Levi's knee. "You weren't frightened?"

Levi shook his head. _No. I'd find things on my window ledge, in the morning. Little metal race cars. Bits of braided string. Pins. Buttons._

He opened the biscuit tin. _See? Here..._

He took a small, chipped blue racecar out of the tin, and handed it to Armin. This was followed by a button. _1990 World Cup of Soccer_ , it read.

Levi tapped Armin.  _The first time I remember seeing him, I think I was six. My mum and I were at the Church River Fall Fair, with my aunt Faye._

 _I wanted to play a shooting game, on the midway. It was a game with a squirt-gun. You had to aim at a target, and shoot. When you hit the target, your turtle..._ Levi smiled at the memory... _your turtle would race along a track, trying to beat all the other turtles. I was good at that game. I came in second._

_The man that ran the game handed me a keychain. It was a Pacman keychain. I remember pointing at a stuffed toy I wanted, instead. It was a black cat, with a red collar._

_My mom explained to me that only the winner got a stuffed toy. That was how the game worked._

_I remember looking up at the man and signing, 'thank you'._

_He signed back to me: 'you're welcome'.  He had a beaded necklace on, black hair and tanned skin._

_Mom, I had signed to my mother, he's Deaf._

_The next morning when I awoke, the stuffed cat toy was sitting on that window ledge, right there._ Levi reached into the biscuit tin, taking out a small, threadbare cat toy, with stuffing leaking out of one eye socket.

 _It's name is Dave_ , Levi signed.

Armin burst out laughing. "Dave!"

_I wanted to give it to Kiki, but it's too awful-looking now._

Levi paused.

_I'm not sure what to think about what happened next...I know that any parent would be absolutely panicked by it. I woke up one night, to find the man himself, sitting on the verandah outside my window._

"Oh!" Armin gasped.

_I opened the window and climbed outside. The man had a can of Pringles. We ate Pringles and watched fireflies. Then, without us exchanging so much as a single sign, I came back into this room and got back into bed._

Levi paused, lost in thought, as the rain drummed on the dormer window.

_The summer I was seven, he returned. And again, the summer I was eight. That summer, he was working at the Norold Fall Fair. He drew caricatures and cartoons, for a few dollars each._

_I'd gotten permission to walk around the fairgrounds, with a couple of my older cousins. I remember standing and watching the man draw. He drew animals and cars, film stars and cartoons._

_I addressed him that day, for the first time. I signed to him, 'my name is Levi. Levi'._

_He'd put down his felt pens, facing me. 'My name is Lin', he'd responded._

_At that point, I'd looked up, to see another figure; a tall, scowling man with a beard and a black hat. He looked like a gravedigger, or so I thought. Now this was a man that did frighten me._

_Scram! he'd barked at me. Git!_

_I didn't need to be told twice. I ran away, to catch up with my cousins._

_I remember that night, I was afraid. I hunkered down under my blanket - under this very quilt. I wasn't afraid of Lin. Lin was my friend. I was afraid of the gravedigger._

Levi paused.

_The next event, I only remember in flashes. After my mom died in '99, I pestered Gideon, Farlan's dad, to explain it to me. He refused to discuss it. It was finally Faye, Farlan's mom, who told me the story...of Linwood Ackerman, an itinerant carnie barely out of his teens, and Kuchel Church, my mom._

_The last time Lin came to see me, he brought me a drawing. It was a cat, with her kittens. He'd opened the window, to place the drawing inside my bedroom._

_I remember sudden thumps, as though a heavy individual was running, up the stairs. I saw the glare of flashlights, outside of my window. My bedroom door banged open._

_I remember my mom grabbing me, pulling me close. I couldn't breathe, and I tried to push her away, so I could see what was happening._

_My uncle, Gideon was punching Lin, and kicking him. I remember trying to lunge toward the window._

_My uncle pulled Lin down onto the lawn. The back porch lights came on. When they did, I saw another figure. It was the gravedigger, and he had a gun. He shoved it against my uncle Gideon's neck, and Gideon let Lin go._

_Lin looked up at my window. His face was bloody, and he was crying. So was I._

_That was the last time I saw him._

_Then, when I was about nineteen, it was actually Petra that came across a coffee table book. Hobo Folk Art, or some such._

_And, inside of this book was a page featuring cat drawings...pictures identical to the one I'd been given. So, somewhere out in this big wide world, Linwood Ackerman is still making cat pictures._

_Rain on Roots was my attempt to process all of this...to make sense of it all...and I wanted to share it with you...because you see, that's how we go on, after a horrible loss._

_We need a sense of ourselves...who we are, at our core. And a sense of what we want to accomplish, in the short time given to us. The will to do the work within our hearts, compels us to live. This is what I have had to learn, to make sense of Erwin's death, and my future._

Armin nodded. _Thank you,_ was all he could manage for a long moment. _Being of use,_ he finally signed, _was all I've ever wanted. No matter what happened to me...what, or whom I've lost, I always had that._

Levi's mouth quirked into a smile.

 _So now,_ he signed,  _will you answer a question for me?_

 _Of course,_ Armin nodded.

_What's in your pocket?_

"Huh?"

_What's in your pocket? You've been fidgeting with something for ten minutes._

"I...nothing..." Armin bit his lip.

_Little liar._

Armin reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a small square foil packet.

"Hah!" Levi barked. "A condom?"

Armin pressed his lips together.

 _A condom_ , Levi repeated, his eyes lighting mischievously. _You only have one condom?_

Armin nodded.

 _Well,_ Levi mused. _This begs an interesting question. What are we to do? Are you going to fuck me wearing that condom, or am I going to fuck you?_

Armin placed the packet down on the bed. _I don't know,_ he replied. _I haven't thought that far ahead._

 _Have you got any lube?_ Levi wanted to know.

_Um...no. I have no lubricant. That would be a no._

_You really are awful at this. You're doing a terrible job of courting me, Armin,_ Levi teased.

Armin flushed, offering Levi an apologetic little grin.

Levi scootched a little closer, until the knees of his crossed legs touched Armin's.

"Do you enjoy sex?" he asked.

Armin squirmed a little, a thick heat warming his belly.

 _I think so_ , he signed, dragging the gesture to show his hesitation. _I just…I don't think I've been doing it right._

"Oh?" Levi tilted his head, his eyes seeking out Armin's.

 _My first stab at it was with my college roommate. He…_ Armin stopped signing, covering his eyes with a hand. _This isn't funny…_

_Then why are you laughing?_

_I don't want you to laugh. It's mean,_ Armin explained.

_Okay, I promise I won't laugh._

_My roommate, Julian…he had asthma. And allergies. I did like him…at least, I thought did. The thing was…stop it!_

_I'm not laughing, you're laughing,_ Levi signed.

 _The thing was…he tried so hard to give me head…but…_ Armin stopped, then took a breath, _Julian couldn't breathe through his nose half the time. He wheezed terribly…and he kept gagging._

_I see._

_I couldn't come. I couldn't stand to see him suffer, and he sounded like a broken vacuum-cleaner, so I'd never let him finish…_

Armin leaned backward, propping himself on his hands. He spoke to Levi then, enjoying the rush of heat as Levi focused on his lips.

"The first time he gagged, it occurred to me that…maybe I was just too _big_ for him to manage. I admit, I walked around campus for about a week considering the possibility that I had an enormous dick."

"Hah!" Levi raised a curious eyebrow.

"What? it's not impossible!"

"Did he fuck you?"

Armin sat up again, signing. _Oh God no. We didn't do that. I was pretty sure he'd expire if we tried. Anyway…being with Julian felt…sort of empty? Something was missing._

_The second time…._

_Wait, wait. How many of these stories are there?_

_Just this. The following year, I met someone else. A chemistry student. Rowing club. We started chatting at the library. I guess he was really my first crush. The whole world seemed better, because he was in it. After a party one night, we ended up in bed. And I did let him fuck me…and it hurt._

Did you stop?

Armin sighed. _No. I thought that, any moment, it might stop hurting. But it didn't. Yet, I persisted. Because I didn't fail at things, you see? And then, he finished._ Armin lowered his hands, trailing off and watching the rain.

"Hey," Levi growled softly, "We've all had shit sex before."

 _The next day, he was in the coffee shop with his friends. I went over to say hi. He was a totally different person._ Armin swallowed. _He said hello, and then basically ignored me. He…uh…he didn't even invite me to sit down. Not that I could have, anyway…_

 _Kids are dicks,_ Levi signed. And then: _You_   _are wonderful. You are authentic. You deserve to be treated well._

Armin smiled shakily. _Maybe_ , he signed, peering at Levi through the blond fringe, _Maybe my second crush will work out a little better than my first._

Levi reached out, gently taking Armin's hand. He turned it over, kissing the inside of his wrist softly. "You want to find out?" he whispered.

__________

Armin lay back, on the narrow bed that had been Levi's. Levi lay alongside him, pressed close, warming Armin. He found the boy's lips, kissing him with a slow rhythm, waves lapping against a dock, until Armin's body began to rock gently, to the same rhythm as the kiss. Levi felt the soft buzz-buzz against his lips; sounds Armin was making. Occasionally Armin broke the kiss, panting, moist breath against Levi's lips.

Levi shuddered; his entire body throbbed. He pressed himself against Armin's thigh, the friction exquisite. He took a long, slow breath. It had become incredibly important that he make Armin feel good; it superceded his own gratification.

He felt Armin's hand on his face, gentle against the dark stubble. Levi reached up, tugging Armin's necktie loose. He unfastened the buttons of Armin's dress shirt, sliding his hand across soft skin. He thumbed Armin's nipple, finding a metal stud there.

He raised his head, surprised. "City kids," he mumbled.

Nonetheless, he pulled gently on the stud. Remembering something, he raised his head.

"Armin?"

"Huh?" The sweet eyes were dilated, dark.

Levi signed:  _You want me to stop, you tap me. If you want more, you scratch with your fingers, like this..._ Levi scratched softly against Armin's thigh.

Armin nodded, pulling Levi's head down for another kiss.

Levi lowered his face to Armin's chest, curiosity getting the better of him. He nosed open Armin's shirt, flicking out his tongue to taste the nipple stud. He lapped at it softly. Gooseflesh rippled Armin's skin, and he moaned; Levi felt the buzz in his bones. Armin's fingers scratched encouragingly at his shoulder.

Levi smiled around the pink nipple. He began circumscribing it, with his tongue. Armin rocked his hips, arching up off of the narrow bed. Levi began to suck on his nipple, pulling the stud gently with his teeth. As he did so, he cupped the bulge in Armin's trousers, palming his erection through the twill fabric. Armin scratched at his shoulder… _more._

Armin began to tug at him then, pulling Levi's work shirt over his head, and then his undershirt. Levi sat up, watching Armin, spread out on his boyhood bed.

Armin reached up, his fingers exploring the thick sinew of Levi's shoulders, the hard ridges of his abdomen.

Levi flicked open the button on Armin's trousers.

 _Are you sure,_ Armin signed saucily, _that you can handle me?_   _I have a massive cock and it is dangerous business._

Shaking, Levi thumbed down Armin's fly. Armin's cock tented his grey boxer briefs, a little circle of damp seeping through at the waistband.

 _It's a risk I'm willing to take,_ Levi signed back, unable to still the tremor in his hands. He placed a hand onto Armin's soft belly. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Armin nodded.

"I'm going to take your pants off…"

Armin raised his hips, obligingly.

Levi yanked the trousers down, Armin lifting his legs as Levi pulled them off.

Levi's chest rose and fell, his breath coming sharp, body aching.

He flipped Armin onto his belly, pushing the dress shirt up and peeling the boxer briefs down. Armin raised his hips, allowing Levi to slide the briefs slowly over the rounded fullness of his backside. 

Levi drew the underwear down Armin's thighs, pulling them off.

Levi groaned, clamping his bottom lip with his teeth, hard enough to hurt. He brushed the tips of his fingers over the smooth, rounded cheeks, tracing the taut curve. Armin eased his thighs apart, one hand scratching at the old quilt. Levi ran a hand softly up the seam of the boy's bottom, watching in fascination as the flesh pebbled, the small buttocks twitching.

He opened his hand, fingers spread, cupping and squeezing Armin's ass. Aroused by Levi's touch, Armin rutted against the quilt, seeking friction. Transfixed, Levi watched the sinewy motion; watched Armin's head turn sideways, his eyes slide shut, and his mouth slacken.

He slapped Armin's bottom. Armin's eyes opened and Levi rolled him gently onto his back. He lay with his head against Armin's belly, listening to the thud of his heart and the soft squelching within. He felt Armin's fingers thread into his hair, closing into a fist. Levi kissed the soft skin, inhaling the boy's musk, pulling it into his lungs as if it would cleanse him. He nosed through the thick, honey-coloured bush.

Levi's tongue rasped against the soft, salty tip of Armin's cock. Armin's fingers tightened painfully in his hair. Levi tapped softly, and the grip slackened, the fingers caressing an apology.

Levi's calloused fingers closed around Armin's cock, stroking it's length. Beneath him, Armin jerked involuntarily. Sensitive.

Levi looked up to see Armin, raised onto his elbows, cheeks florid, watching him avidly and panting.

Levi locked eyes with the boy, the hard ridge of his workworn thumb creeping up the underside of Armin's cock, rubbing the cleft. "There, baby?" Levi rasped.

Armin's mouth opened, in a wordless gasp.

Levi lowered his head, sucking Armin into the warm confines of his mouth. Armin's legs scissored helplessly as Levi closed his fist firmly around the base of his cock, pulling Armin into his mouth, tongue scribing clever circles just beneath the ridge.

It was incredibly erotic to Levi, watching Armin unravel, and also amusing. He could see why Julian the asthmatic had had such difficulty. While not huge, Armin's cock had a sweet, pleasing curve upward toward his belly. It was delightful. It might also make throating a bit of a challenge to someone with less experience than Levi.

He felt Armin's hand scratching gently at his neck, his shoulder.

He began to stroke his young lover more firmly, pausing to give his own middle finger a good soaking.

Levi slid his finger between the boy's buttocks, teasing the little hole there. He slipped his fingertip inside, watching Armin's face carefully.

Armin's head lolled back, Adam's apple sharp in his throat. He scratched at the covers with both hands, hips twitching, pushing his cock greedily against Levi's lips.

Levi obliged, parting his lips and pressing the head of Armin's cock against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

He slid his finger further inside of Armin, finger-fucking him gently, rubbing with the pad of his finger.

An expression of blissful confusion spread across Armin's face, brows knotting, mouth panting and eyes huge as Levi pleasured him in two different ways simultaneously.

He sucked in a breath, torso rigid and buttocks clenching, and then raised his hips, spurting into Levi's mouth and sobbing, "Sorry! Sorry!"

Levi closed his eyes, mouth expertly pliant, against Armin's thrusts. He swallowed slowly, the taste bitter and thick and gorgeous.

Finally, the spasms ceased. Levi lay with his head on Armin's belly, kissing the quivering flesh, reassuring and murmuring.

He pulled himself up, wrapping arms and legs around the spent boy. Armin nuzzled close, breath softening, drowsy.

"Rain stopped," Levi whispered, pulling Armin as close as possible, "Sun's coming out again."

 


	6. On Love and Leadership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the events of September 11, 2001. It also references grief, and loss...and finding a way through these things. Just leaving a note here, for any readers finding this content difficult.
> 
> Thank you guys, for honouring this fic with your time, and your wonderful feedback! It is so appreciated, and I hope you continue to enjoy Levi and Armin's journey...
> 
> FYI - I generally drop a chapter a week, usually on the weekend. I'm also roaming the geriatric wing on tumblr @watergirl1968.
> 
> Have a great week all...and now, on to all things sweet and small...

_I've been bouncing around the same hundred-odd acres my entire life._

The thought stole into Levi's conscious mind as he surfaced. He inhaled; stone and stale woodsmoke. He was in the chapel cottage. His ground zero.

He'd been fourteen when Kuchel had died. Too old to remain in the tiny upstairs room in the big house; too young to be on his own. He'd taken up residence in the converted chapel, filling it with his books, his treasures, his discontent.

He'd spent hours lying in this bed, staring up at the chipped gothic arches, plotting his escape. He'd apply to University. He'd gain admission. He would go down to Toronto, live in the city, and get his writing published. He'd burn his horrible rubber boots and his clothes which stank of sheep shit. He'd have a few friends; he would sit in cafés with them and drink grappa and espresso.

Here, in this stone chapel, he'd dreamed and schemed a life as far away from Churchfarm as possible.

The stark smells, the skittering of mice and the creaks in the rafters were a balm to Levi. Here, there were no ghosts.

He rolled over, scooping his bedmate close. Armin curled against him in a new and unfamiliar way; it was like learning a new dance. It took Levi a moment to fit himself to Armin's lithe frame. He smiled wryly in the dark.

They'd spent all night, talking. A few ciders deep, Armin was outrageously funny. He was awkward, but so incredibly passionate in his convictions that Levi was kept constantly off-balance.

Levi had invited Armin to stay in the chapel at Churchfarm, for the duration of his assignment. Armin had collected his things from the guest house in Church River, paid the bill and taken up residence in the chapel.

The apps on Levi's iWatch winked, as the tiny device registered Churchfarm rousing itself. 5:10 a.m., it read.

He reached down, cupping Armin's small backside, pulling him against his body. Armin's legs wound around him, his face nuzzling Levi's neck.

"Get this tushy out of bed," Levi growled, squeezing.

Armin scratched Levi's neck softly with the tips of his fingers.

"Nope," Levi snorted. "I've got nothing for ya."

Armin raised his head, features muzzy with sleep. He pulled his hands out from under the covers.

 _What time is it?_ he signed.

_Just past five._

_I have to go!_ Armin sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He turned and looked at Levi. Levi lay back, watching him, features soft in the predawn light.

Armin touched a finger to Levi's forehead gently. _You look so peaceful when you don't scowl._

_And I am broodingly handsome when I do, so you can't lose either way._

_It really takes years off_ , Armin grinned.

Levi lunged at him, pinning him face down on the bed. Armin kicked and growled, trying to escape and failing.

"Tap," Levi urged him.

Armin wriggled and squirmed, but Levi cinched the hold in tighter. "Tap now?"

Armin turned his head, teeth nibbling at Levi's arm.

"Oh, no you don't!" Levi rasped. He smacked Armin's bottom. Armin shook his head, refusing to yield.

"Stubborn thing," Levi released him. "Will I see you later?"

"Not if I see you first!"

__________

**OCTOBER 2001**

Dr. Hanje Zöe, Chief Science Officer at Greenspace Inc., had said 'yes'.

She'd told her business partner and dear friend Ansel Arlert and his wife Maryann that, if the worst should happen, she would raise their only child, Armin.

After all, it was incomprehensible that both of them would die. The odds that she'd be called upon to become legal guardian to Armin, were slim to none.

And yet, here they were, in the cold, cruel aftermath of September 11, 2001.

Hanje rolled over, feeling the small boy scoot closer, seeking warmth. She hissed as she landed on something sharp, pulling a toy airplane out of the bed, along with a few stray Cheerios.

She did not, _could not_ think of herself as Armin's adoptive mother. The thought panicked her; suffocating and irrevocable.

Rather, they were a tribe: Rico, Armin, his grandpa Lorne and herself. Armin was simply the littlest member of the tribe.

She had known him his entire life. She'd seen him before Ansel had. Maryann had laboured for fourteen hours; finally, exhausted and fed up with Ansel's escalating anxiety, she'd sent him into the hallway, bore down and brought Armin into the world. Hanje had caught him.

At nine, he smelled of playground sand, fear and red licorice. He was small for his age, and since the day the towers fell, had regressed a little, which was to be expected. He wouldn't let Hanje out of his sight.

The police had brought him home, the night of September thirteenth. They'd found him at Union Station, with a Transformers backpack and safety goggles. He'd been attempting to purchase a train ticket to New York City.

"Nobody is looking for them", he'd tried to reason with Hanje. "Someone needs to go and look".

"It's too late," she'd said it slowly and carefully, kneeling in front of him as he sat on the couch. "I'm so sorry, Armin. Their time here is done. They're gone."

He'd regarded her - riveting, wise eyes in a tiny pixie face.

"How do you know?"

"I am sure. Some details are better left to the adults to manage. The older you get, the more you will understand."

The reality had hit home then.

He'd leaned forward and gotten sick on the carpet.

She'd cleaned him up, taken him to bed and sat there all night, with the light on, holding him in her arms and watching _The Little Mermaid_ with the sound turned down.

Around two in the morning, she'd called Rico, her girlfriend. Rico was a pilot for Greenspace, and had trained in the far north.

"Ree, I don't know what I'm fucking doing..."

"Okay," Rico's voice was calm and steady on the other end. "I'll be there, soon."

Hanje still couldn't listen to Ansel's last voice message without breaking down. He'd been with Maryann, which was some small comfort. They'd been on the 94th floor of the North Tower.

__________

**PRESENT DAY**

Armin got to the Lindsay airport hangar as dawn was breaking.

Hanje waiting for him, in flight gear, breath puffing into the chill morning air.

"Hi mum," Armin smiled sleepily. "I brought you coffee. Peace offering?"

"Peace offering?"

"I know you're still annoyed with me."

Hanje eyed her young ward. Sighed.

"Three sugars," Armin waggled the cup. "And I won another donut."

"Alright. Give it here. Sit down."

Armin sat with Hanje, on a pair of folding chairs in the hangar bay, beside the Greenspace Cessna Skyhawk.

Hanje regarded him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. He had purple smudges under his eyes, and a small scratch on his cheek. "You look tired," she commented.

"Yeah. A little."

Hanje pushed her glasses onto the top of her head, and took a sip of coffee.

"Armin, I can't make you want this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..."

"I'm a good technician," Armin frowned.

"Yes. You are an excellent technician. And before that, you were very efficient at data entry. I believe you've taken the right approach, with Greenspace. Learning every aspect of this industry..."

"I know..."

"I'm not finished. When we are in a staff meeting, and you are reading a book..."

"Because I already _know_. I know what you need us to do...."

"No, you don't know. You're myopic, and self-centered. Like it or not, your attitude and your actions help to set the tone of our culture at Greenspace. If the company's CEO and president is reading novels during briefings, what message is that sending to entry-level field techs? Or to partners meeting with us?"

Armin opened his mouth and shut it with a snap.

"Sweetheart. You have hit the glass ceiling of working alone, in-silo. There is nowhere else to go, that does not involve a leadership role. Lead through action. Communicate our objectives. _Engage_."

She leaned forward, taking his hands in her own. "Your father left you this company. It was his passion. He did not leave it to you, to make you miserable."

"I'm not miserable!"

"Are you sure?" Hanje leaned back. "If you're not unhappy...then what's the reason for the disconnect lately?"

"I..." Armin swallowed. "I've met somebody."

Hanje let out a squawk. "You have?"

"Yes. A writer..."

"Well, honey. I didn't see that coming."

"Mum, I really, _really_ like him..."

"Two reallys..."

A pause. "Let's go fly," Hanje stood up.

__________

Armin occupied the cockpit of the Skyhawk, with Hanje as copilot. They cleared their departure with the small tower, and took off into the stainless spring sky.

"Where we headed?" Armin asked.

"North. Over Church River, along the watershed."

Armin navigated, peering out of the windshield at the grey brown patchwork of fields. Spring thaw had come; blushes of new green dotted the landscape, the rivers running high and turgid.

Armin inhaled, then exhaled slowly, relaxing. As the small plane climbed into the sky, the Kawartha Lakes and Trent-Severn Waterway took shape below; jewel bright.

"Skyhawk 314, this is Lindsay tower. Over." Armin heard in his ear. He smiled, recognizing Rico's voice.

"Tower, this is Skyhawk 314," he replied. "Good morning, Ree."

Rico Brzenska laughed. "Where's my coffee, you little shit?"

Armin snickered. "I dunno."

"You dunno. And what's this text I just got about a boyfriend?"

"Aaaagh!"

__________

After the morning milking, Levi made his rounds. He rode his ATV up to the top field. Farlan was pacing the perimeter of the field, tapping into his phone.

The Churchfarm flock milled about in the field, watched over carefully by Remus, their sentry.

"Morning, Fart," Levi approached his cousin.

"Got to start shearing next week," Farlan looked up, facing Levi.

Levi nodded. _Wednesday,_ he signed. _Let's make a start on Wednesday._

Farlan nodded. _Yep._

Levi visited the south barn, preparing the mineral supplement for the flock, and breakfast for Remus.

He opened the top field gate, driving into the field. He stopped the vehicle, whistling sharply.

Remus' long ears pricked up. Scenting the food, he ambled over to Levi. Levi held a hand out, standing still, and Remus nosed him. Levi clipped a lead to the donkey's bridle.

"Okay, old man," he murmured. He ran a hand over Remus' flanks gently, searching for burrs or nicks. Finding none, he clipped on the canvas feed bag. Remus chomped happily.

Farlan shook his head. "Donkey whisperer."

__________

Levi stood in the doorway of the north barn, looking into the small office he kept. He was proud of Churchfarm's computer system; much of the milking assembly was automated. His phone and iWatch applications sent him a variety of notifications; gates opening and closing, messages from Farlan or Isabel, inventory levels.

He sighed. Despite the bright morning, his heart was heavy.

_Ah, well. No way around it._

He turned away from the barn and made his way through the orchard, toward Erwin's A-frame house.

 _I'll go in, find what I need and get out,_ he'd promised himself.

He couldn't even make it through the orchard without a heaviness settling in his chest. Neglected windfalls from seasons past rotted on the ground. Some of the trees were tied with coloured strings; these denoted Erwin's grafting experiments. Nobody had ever come to check if the grafts had taken. The strings waved in the breeze, forgotten.

Levi approached the house. He and Erwin had shaved outdoors, sometimes. With straight razors. Each had tried to outdo the other in achieving a perfect, close traditional shave. Levi ran a hand over his face. He'd had stubble on his chin for years now.

He heard a buzz overhead. A small plane, bright against the spring sky. Perhaps it was Greenspace.

 _They are here,_ he reminded himself, _to determine why Auruo Bossard is dead. Why Erwin is dead, and why Farlan, Kiki and others are sick. Nothing is more important._

Resolved, he opened the door of the house and stepped inside.

__________

**SUMMER 2005**

_Petra!_ Levi had texted, _I'm going to be published!_

_Seriously?!?!_

_Yes! A small publishing house wants The Stone Chapel. Fuck!!_

He'd been twenty-one years old. A University dropout ( _I'm learning fuck-all, I quit._ ) and budding novelist. He was living in Toronto, spending his days banging away on an iMac and his nights banging boys he'd meet at Komrads.

He drank, smoked a little weed and held forth on a vast range of topics to his intrepid circle of friends, Deaf and otherwise.

At twenty, Levi Ackerman knew everything there was to know about life.

Then, he'd had his first experience with an editor. Melissa, she'd been called. Or Vanessa, perhaps.

She'd taken his first novel, _The Stone Chapel_ and, to Levi's mind, had run it through a buzz-saw, shredding it down to two-hundred and eight pages of vanilla pap.

Levi had received the publisher's edited draft. He'd read it, lip curled in derision. He'd been eating a burger at the time, and scrawled the word _BOLLOCKS_ across the cover pages in Heinz ketchup, thrown it back into its courier pouch and returned it.

Signal Tree Publishing had taken this response to mean that Levi Ackerman needed another editor.

He'd been called to their offices, in a post-war walk-up on Adelaide Street in Toronto.

He wore a black undershirt, a bomber jacket and tight, shredded jeans.

He'd been ushered into a small office. In front of him was a square man; square-jawed, square-shouldered with large, spatulate hands.

"Smith," he'd introduced himself. "Erwin Smith." He'd risen from his desk. He was wearing a sweater, cargo shorts, sandals...and _socks_.

 _Fucking shoot me_ , Levi had thought, _I bet this guy barbecues for the little wife on weekends, has a dog named Sport and guffaws when he laughs._

"Levi," he'd replied, and signed.

 _Yes,_ Erwin Smith had signed back, _I know. Please sit._

 _Oh, Christ,_ Levi had thought, _this guy signs like a kid trying to fit Lego blocks together. Just kill me._

 _I want my manuscript back,_ Levi had signed without preamble. _If you can't publish it without butchering the fuck out of it, I'm not interested._

 _I see,_ Erwin had signed. He smiled at Levi. Levi glared savagely.

 _Are you going to tell me how brilliant the book is now?_ Levi wanted to know.

 _No,_ Erwin had signed. _You might approach brilliance one day. Right now you write as though you're tapping the keys with one hand and fisting your cock with the other._

"Hah!" Levi had barked.

 _How about this,_ Erwin had proposed, _Why not give me a try? Sample my efforts, and if you don't like my edits, we'll call it a day._

 _He goes to Home Depot,_ Levi had indulged in his own bitchiness on the subway ride home. _He attends seminars on interlocking patios. He drinks craft beer. He listens to Fleetwood Mac._

Levi had received Erwin's first draft of _The Stone Chapel_ two weeks later. The prose had been expertly polished.

 _Prick,_ Levi had mused, approvingly.

__________

Erwin wore socks with sandals, Levi found out later, because he had circulation problems associated with his chronic leukaemia. He'd been managing the blood disease for seven years and, with good habits, had an excellent prognosis for a long and productive life.

Before accepting the position as editor at Signal Tree, he'd worked for National Geographic, among other periodicals. He'd travelled the world, writing and editing.

He'd been hoping, he explained to Levi, to move out of the city. To someplace with a slower pace, cleaner air. Someplace he could think.

Levi had brought Erwin to Churchfarm. At first, he'd felt secondhand embarrassment for Erwin, wondering if the locals would laugh at his socks, at his Bahama-bright golf shirts, at the way he pronounced, _Holstein_.

They hadn't. Church River had welcomed the large, sunny-tempered man with open arms. They'd answered his questions about orchards, and salvaging barnboard, about pasteurization and farm quotas. 'The Gentleman Farmer,' they'd dubbed him.

Levi had then experienced a pang of shame; nobody else had judged Erwin; only _he_ had.

He'd been sitting on Erwin's couch one fall afternoon, when Erwin had sat down beside him, taken his hand, and leaned in to kiss him.

It had been the shock of Levi's life.

He had laughed, amused that fate had tricked him; he - a self-professed student of human nature - had failed to perceive that Erwin was _gay_. He'd returned the kiss, bemused and aroused, and was still laughing when Erwin had bent him over the back of the couch and fucked him with a sincerity that was almost wholesome.

They'd been married quietly, at a justice of the peace, in 2007. Erwin had maintained his house on the orchard. Levi divided his time between the big house and Erwin's home.

Erwin ran for, and won, a position on the Church River town council, and began effectively applying his political science degree.

Levi accepted his birthright as master of Churchfarm, taking over the property from Gideon and Faye, Farlan's parents. Farlan had been too young to manage on his own.

Levi wrote, and tended his flock.

Erwin worked, dabbled in the orchard, and socialized at the library and the diner.

It had been the quiet heart of their life together. And then, Erwin had gotten sick.

His blood numbers had climbed, endless rounds of tests had commenced. He'd consulted oncologists, and naturopaths.

Erwin became convinced that his turn for the worse was due, in part, to environmental factors. That, beneath it's pastoral veneer, something lurking at Churchfarm had infected him.

He'd turned his research skills toward finding a solution. He'd reached out, requisitioning a Ministry study, and then another. Nothing had come to light. The amount of red tape was devastating.

Levi, Petra, Auruo and Mike had wanted him to slow down; to relax, and rest. To enjoy his time.

To the end of his life, he had persisted, hunkered over his desk, wrists bony and skin paper-thin. "There is an answer," he had said to Levi.

Levi hadn't wanted to hear it. In his bones, he knew that something was wrong. Something had shifted, perhaps ten years prior. Something had begun to fester at Churchfarm.

The problem, however, ranked a distant second to his terror of losing Erwin; to the fury that consumed him.

It was horrific, _incomprehensible_ that this man had been cut down, in his prime. He'd been too good for this world.

After Erwin had drawn his last breath, Levi had shoved all of Erwin's research into six bankers' boxes. He'd dumped the boxes into Erwin's study and slammed the door, entombing the project.

__________

PRESENT DAY

Levi looked around the house. The heaviness in his chest eased. The grief was no longer sharp; he and Erwin's spirit had found new ways to coexist; The best of Erwin, Levi carried within himself.

 _Who'd have thought_ , he mused, _that I'd be called upon to take charge? Of anything. And yet, here we are. Your shoes are big, but I can fill them._

"Hey," he said, voice rasping softly in the empty house. "I miss you. Everyone misses you."

He walked into the living room, running his hands over the couch, which was covered in a drop cloth.

 _You should know,_ he said mentally to Erwin, _that I don't put green onions in the omelettes anymore._ He smiled a little sadly.

 _I rearranged the kitchen, so that I can reach everything,_ he continued. Paused. Smiled gently. _And...I took a boy to bed. He's come out of nowhere, and he's incorrigible. You'd have liked him. He's gotten under my skin. I'm not sure I want to be without him._

Levi walked up the stairs, and approached the door of Erwin's study. Swallowing, he pushed open the door.

The air was musty, cloying. Levi pushed open a window. He tried to eye the contents of Erwin's study with detachment. Ah, there they were. Six boxes. Three piled up, three under the desk.

He began corralling the boxes together. Bending down to lift one, he paused. There, between two of the boxes, Erwin's sweater.

Levi picked it up slowly. It was huge.

He pulled the lid off of one of the boxes. Inside, Erwin had attached coloured sticky-notes to some of the files. _Levi, look here_ , one read, in block letters. And later, when Erwin was too weak to sit at his desk, one pencilled: _Levi_. And then, simply _L._ , scrawled with the last of Erwin's strength.

Levi slid to the floor, shaking. To his dying breath, Erwin had been trying to save his community.

Levi buried his face in the sweater. "I'm sorry!" he sobbed, "I'm sorry I didn't help you..." and he wept; coarse, horrible sounds, like an injured creature.

The afternoon shadows were lengthening by the time Levi raised his head. His eyes and throat stung. The storm within had passed, leaving him sedated, eerily quiet.

He rose, his limbs complaining. _Everything I know about compassion, about kindness, about leadership...I learned from you. I will not waste our time together._

__________

Armin hadn't kept track. Hanje had. When they'd landed, she'd informed Armin that he'd achieved two-hundred hours of in-flight training, and would be able to obtain his commercial pilot's license.

Armin sat across from Rico and Hanje at the diner, squirming with bliss. It had been a perfect day.

Rico Brzenska surveyed the diner, her grey eyes lighting on several young men.

"Him?" she said quietly, to Armin.

"Huh?" Armin looked up from the pool of ketchup into which he was dipping onion rings. "No, Ree! That's the taxidermist."

Rico grinned.

"Stop it," Armin hissed.

The door banged open. Farlan Church entered the diner, grinning broadly. He strolled over to the counter, quipping something to Jean Kirschstein. Jean snorted, laughing.

"Hey, Armin!" Farlan called.

Hanje looked over at the lunch counter. A thin boy, pale, with platinum hair sticking out from beneath a wool cap, similar to the one Armin himself was wearing. The boy flashed a smile at Armin.

Armin raised a hand and nodded back.

"Ohhhhh," Hanje nodded. "He's cute. Is he younger than you?"

"Mum," Armin growled. "I mean it. I'll go and eat dinner by myself at the counter if you don't stop!"

"He's very cute," Rico mused.

"Lower your voice," Armin muttered. "He's married. To a girl. And has a baby."

"Oh."

"Dr. Hanje Zöe?" a raspy voice interrupted them.

Armin's head shot up. Levi stood at their table, a banker's box beside him on the floor. He wore an odd, pinched expression.

Armin glanced from Levi, to Hanje.

"Umm..." he stammered.

 _Dr. Zoë?_ Levi signed.

Hanje nodded, _Yes, that's me._

 _Levi Ackerman,_ Levi introduced himself. _My place is Churchfarm._

 _Oh yes,_ Hanje nodded. _Churchfarm. Will you sit down?_

 _I'm sorry,_ Levi signed, _I can't stay. I need to meet our dairy truck. However, this box is for you._

Hanje looked down at the bankers' box.

 _Files,_ Levi elaborated. _Research, much of it notarized. This is my late husband's work, and it all has to do with contaminated soil and water. He was very meticulous._

 _Ah,_ Hanje nodded. _Interesting. I don't suppose there are any landfill purchase records?_

_Yes._

Hanje looked meaningfully at Rico, and at Armin.

_Really. Well. Thank you!_

_I've got five more boxes,_ Levi informed her. _I will put them into your vehicle._

Hanje held out a hand, taking Levi's into her own.

_Thank you, Mr. Ackerman. I'm familiar with your late husband's work. I've read his papers._

Levi nodded.

Then, he reached over, pushing Armin's wool cap off, and planting a slow, tender kiss onto Armin's forehead.

He looked into Armin's eyes, smiled, straightened up and walked out the door.

Armin leaned back in his chair, hands linked behind his head, flushed pink and smiling happily.

"I really, _really_ did not see _that_ coming," Hanje gazed out the door of the diner, after the dark-haired man.

 


	7. No Cure For Dumbass

Her cries were plaintive, and brief. It was as though she couldn't pull enough air into her tiny lungs to manage a proper wail.

The thin sound jerked both her parents out of fitful sleep. Isabel sat up. Farlan reached out, touching her shoulder.

"I got her, Bel."

"No," Isabel whispered, "You sleep."

"Don't worry, babe. I'm up already..." Farlan swung his long legs over the edge of their bed. His lungs burned. He coughed, flexing his stiff fingers.

In the grey, predawn light, he shrugged on a pair of sweatpants.

He padded down the hall to Kuchel's room. Her little night light glowed, peach.

"Hi, baby," he said gently. "How's my girl?"

Hearing her father's voice, Kuchel bawled loudly, hoping he'd see to her needs.

Farlan picked her up, holding her close. "Daaaaa," her fist locked into his platinum hair.

"I know," he soothed. He took her over to the changing table, removing her wet diaper. He watched the tiny chest rise and fall, heard the squeak as she inhaled. He told her the same thing he told her every morning: "It'll be okay. There's a fix for everything. You'll see."

Farlan changed Kuchel, wrapped her loosely in a blanket and headed into the bathroom. He closed the door, turning on the hot shower. The room filled with steam, and he watched his reflection slowly dissolve, as the mirror fogged up.

He breathed in slowly; the warm, moist air loosening his airways and soothing his aches. The baby on his shoulder relaxed, her cries subsiding.

__________

It was still dark in the little kitchen, when Farlan heated up a bottle for Kuchel, and sat at the table, his daughter in her car seat in front of him. She sucked on the bottle, her dark eyes watching him.

His phone buzzed. A message from Jean Kirschstein, his best buddy. Jean was awake before the rest of Church River, in the diner's downstairs kitchen, baking.

 _Check this out!_  the message read. Attached to it was a photo of a '99 El Camino.

 _WTF is that piece of shit?_ Farlan tapped back. _Your grandpa's car?_

_No dickface, that car's the demo derby winner._

_Pfffffffffffft_ Farlan replied. He tilted Kuchel's bottle. 

 _Got ur car yet?_ his phone binged.

Farlan grinned. He'd been over at Rollie Stroud's the previous Thursday, to see about new electric sheep shears. Rollie had had the perfect car for the Fall Fair Demolition Derby. He and Farlan had swapped; the old car in exchange for a full set of tractor tires.

Farlan pulled Kuchel out of her chair, cradling her on his shoulder and patting her back.

He thumbed through his phone, attaching an image of the '87 Chevy Impala he'd gotten from Rollie.  _You are so fuckin' done,_ he challenged.

 _Overrated piece of shit,_ Jean texted back immediately.

Farlan chuckled, his melancholy lifting. _Don't matter,_ he tapped. _You'll never beat me and you never DO and u know why???_

He sent the message and then added the phrase that he'd teased Jean with for years: _There's no cure for DUMBASS._

__________

"Blam!" Gideon Church exclaimed, slapping the palm of his hand flat on the table. Armin's coffee jumped.

Gideon waited, allowing his words to sink in, for effect. "Got that sucker," he declared, pointing a thick finger at Armin Arlert, "right between the eyes."

Most of Gideon Church's anecdotes ended with either "Blam!" or "Hallelujah!"

The patriarch of the Church family, Farlan's father was known for his enthusiastic, if off-key contributions to the Church River Presbyterian choir, and for shooting things on sight.

Gideon sat back in his chair, patting his rounded belly, eyes twinkling.

"Gideon," his wife admonished, "That's enough, now. Let Armin get on with things."

"I never," Gideon ignored her, "seen a coyote that size. There was _another_ time...."

"Gideon!" Faye Hawley Church snapped at her husband with a dish towel, "Enough!"

Armin rose. "Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Church," he smiled.

"Are you sure you won't eat anything, honey?" she asked.

"Thanks all the same," Armin replied, "but I had a donut on the way in."

Faye nodded.

The sprawl known as Hawley Acres was the Church family's largest holding. It was well-maintained by Faye Hawley, an astute entrepreneur. Farlan's sister, Greer, would run Hawley Acres one day. Greer shared her mother's head for figures and crop forecasting. Farlan and his cousin Levi were better suited to the family's original homestead at Churchfarm; both had livestock sense in their blood.

Faye watched out of her kitchen window as the young Greenspace technician, Armin Arlert, geared up for his foray into the field.

Surely, between the technicians and scientists, between the lawyers and doctors, someone would be able to help Farlan and Kuchel.

"No more pestering Armin," she turned and regarded Gideon, "You let them get on with it. They can't help anyone sitting at your kitchen table!"

__________

Hawley Acres sat in a wide basin, level and arable. Churchfarm, by contrast, was hilly, meandering up toward the ridge line.

Armin found himself faced with a sea of dark, turned earth; the first blush of soy, rye and rapeseed striping it with baby green.

He walked along the hedgerow, whistling. He'd been in Church River for three weeks, and his fieldwork was nearing completion. He bent down, drilling a sample. The soil at Hawley was rich, resembling the Holland Marsh, to the west.

He straightened, consulting his grid. Blinked. Referred to his notebook. His notes listed Hawley at a size of 175 acres. The map grid, to scale, was 275.

Armin scanned the horizon; field and forest stretching as far as the eye could see. He was supposed to complete Hawley today.

"Crap," he croaked.

He took out his phone. Sighed.

"Good morning," Hanje answered cheerfully.

"Mum," Armin said, "is Thom finished at Wapassing?"

"Yeah, _just_..." Hanje replied.

"Good," Armin said, "because Hawley is nearly twice the size that I've got written down here. I could use the help."

"Armin, we've got less than a week to wrap up the field work. I need you back in analytics."

"I know," Armin winced. "I know. Give me Thom and I can get back to Churchfarm. A day and a half at Churchfarm and a day on the Ridge, and I'll be done."

"Text Thom," Hanje told him, and hung up.

Armin frowned. If it was true that he'd been less-productive during this assignment, it was only because he wasn't working overtime every day, as was his normal habit.

He crouched down, running his gloved hand through the soil.

Being close to the earth eased his anxiety. Life before his arrival in Church River had had a rhythmic simplicity; he'd poured all of his energy into Greenspace. The work itself was both reward and stimulation. He'd felt satisfied.

He was wholly unused to this new crop of feelings; a rush of excitement whenever he caught sight of Levi's dark head; a thick, syrupy lust that kept him from falling asleep; a craving to have more than Levi's nimble fingertip inside of him. And the sickening guilt that his behaviour was affecting his work.

"Levi," he said softly, to the earth.

__________

It was nearing two-thirty by the time Armin packed up at Hawley Acres. Thomas Wagner had joined him there, enthusing about the Wapassing River. Connie Springer had texted them both an image from Norold. He was in full bio-hazard gear, holding up a dead rat by the tail.

 _BBQ rat anyone? Loolz..._  he'd captioned the picture.

Armin had left Thomas with instructions to complete sample collection at Hawley, and had driven back to Churchfarm.

Upon arrival, he was greeted by the sight of a pink, denuded sheep trying to squirm out of Isabel Church's grasp.

"Easy," she told it. Farlan nodded and she released the animal to hop around the enclosure.

Farlan straightened, holding an electric shear in his hand.

"Hey, Armin!" he called, "How about a trim, Goldilocks?"

Armin laughed, "No thanks, I'm good!"

Levi came out of the house then, pulling on a long pair of rubber gloves.

He stopped, halfway between Armin and the shearing pen. _There's ham and pea soup,_ he signed thickly, without removing the gloves.

Armin shrugged. _Huh?_

Levi pulled his gloves off. _Ham and pea soup inside,_  he signed.

Armin nodded. He raised his hands. _Thanks. I need to work quickly today. I'll eat later._

Levi faced him, one eyebrow quirked. _I thought boys your age were always...hungry._

Armin flushed.

"Hah!"

Armin was growing accustomed to Levi's teasing.

 _See you later,_ Levi signed. _The mud is thickest by the hedgerows, don't get stuck. And you mind the top field._

Armin held a hand up, turned and rummaged in the back of his vehicle for his field kit.

It was May in Ontario. Everywhere, Armin noticed signs of burgeoning spring. The trees were dressed in new green; the farmers had sewn their early seed into the spongy earth. The hedgerows seethed with the ardent chirping of crickets.

As he walked along the fire road which bisected Churchfarm, a bright brood of baby chicks scurried around his feet.

"Hi, chicks!" he smiled.

Armin crossed the fence line, stepping into Erwin Smith's orchard. "Hmm," he noted, "apple grafting."

He stepped closer to one of the trees, tagged with a piece of purple yarn. The new varietal was budding and thriving.

"Huh," he nodded appreciatively, "Nice job."

He picked his way through the orchard, noting the overabundance of mushy windfall debris. He wondered why the apples hadn't been harvested. Perhaps it had been too difficult for Levi. Perhaps in the fall, he could return to Churchfarm, and help with the harvest.

He approached the A-frame house, pulling on his face mask. He walked carefully around it, scraping samples of mould, moss and growth from around the foundation.

By a crack in the foundation, he discovered a dead mouse. He thought of Connie's earlier rat photo. He squatted down, examining the carcass. There was something odd about it's bulging, opaque eyes and protruding tongue. Armin opened a biohazard bag, scooped the mouse inside and tagged the sample. He placed it into his ice chest.

An hour later, Armin stood at the north end of Levi's property. He'd surveyed all of Church farm, except for the top field. He'd have his samples ready for pick up, before nightfall.

Perhaps he and Levi could have dinner together, in the chapel cottage. 

He strolled along the fence, admiring the flock of sheep in the top field. The field was flat, grass and bracken. An apple tree stood at it's centre, knobby and ancient. Here were the ewes, with suckling lambs. Farlan would not shear the ewes until the lambs were finished nursing.

Carefully, Armin unlatched the gate and stepped into the field, carrying his metal clipboard and sample chest.

A large brown head, broader than that of a horse, poked up above the backs of the sheep. The animal had long, tapered ears, a white snout and sharp, watchful eyes.

"Hi donkey," Armin chirped.

__________

Levi's day had had a sour start, which he couldn't quite shake. He'd awoken in the cottage chapel, at one end of the sofa. Armin overlapped him, snoozing with a book on his chest. They'd been reading to one another, interpreting Maya Angelou and Armistead Maupin, painting word pictures for one another until the wee hours.

They'd never made it into bed, and Levi's joints complained. He'd risen quietly, seeing the light on across the field at Farlan and Isabel's.

He'd gone over to Farlan's. His young cousin was in the kitchen, with baby Kuchel. Levi had joined them, sitting at the table quietly with Farlan.

"Levi," Farlan had looked at him finally. "Levi, how do you make a will?"

Levi reached over, laying a hand on Farlan's arm. "No," he said quietly.

"But..."

"What is it you always say, Farlan?"

A bittersweet smile. "There's no cure for dumbass?"

"No," Levi chastised. "The other thing."

"It'll be okay," Farlan gazed wistfully at his daughter, "There's a fix for everything."

Levi stood up then. Good. He signed. He'd made the sign for _shearing sheep_ , which had made Farlan smile.

He'd left the bungalow, a sharp pain in his throat and the sunrise blurred through his tears.

__________

Armin took readings for soil acidity. Twice. He frowned. The entire west side of Churchfarm were giving him readings which varied erratically. There was no uniformity to soil composition. He was lost in thought, pondering what this meant, when a furious braying startled him.

He wheeled around. From the far end of the paddock, the donkey was trotting toward him, head lowered.

Armin froze. Surely the donkey would slow down. The earth vibrated beneath his feet.

"Fuck!" he yelped, "Oh, fuck!!"

He scrambled backward. The donkey trotted past him, braying noisily. It seemed, to Armin, louder than a fire engine.

"It's okay," he called out. "It's okay, donkey..." Armin took a few steps to his left, glancing at his metal clipboard which lay on the ground, with his phone inside.

Heart thudding, he took a chance and scuttled toward it. He bent down, fumbling to retrieve the phone, but the donkey was on top of him. Armin was butted to the ground, the clipboard flying out of his hands.

He rolled, scrambling to his feet and charged toward the apple tree. The donkey had galloped to the south end of the paddock, braying and stamping.

Armin jumped for a low-hanging branch and pulled himself into the tree, feet scrabbling against the trunk for purchase.

He was shaking, sweat soaking his shirt beneath the field jacket.

The donkey trotted back toward him, spotting the shiny clipboard and giving it a definitive kick.

"No, donkey!" Armin cried, "Please, stop!"

Armin's feet, balanced on two knobs of bark, began to slip. He gritted his teeth, hanging onto the branch.

The sheep had begun to low, stirred into panic by the donkey.

"Help!" Armin called out.

He saw the red glint of Farlan's ATV then, approaching the field along the fire road. Levi was on the back of the vehicle.

As they drew alongside the fence, Farlan shut off the motor.

"Remus treed you, did he?" Farlan chortled.

Armin strained to hold himself up in the tree.

"Just stay there!" Farlan instructed.

With a snort, Remus wheeled, kicking Armin's clipboard toward the rail fence. His hoof caught the fence, collapsing a section of it.

The sheep, sensing a way out of the turmoil, headed for the gap in the fence, hopping over it and spilling into the orchard.

"Aw shoot!" Farlan shook his head, laughing and doubling over, coughing.

Levi's expression was black as thunder. He hopped off of the vehicle, shotgun in hand.

"Don't!" squeaked Armin, "Oh no, what's that for? Don't hurt him!"

"Levi won't hurt him. We didn't know what the ruckus was all about. Could've been a coyote attacking the lambs."

Levi placed the gun onto the ground and whistled sharply. He stood still, arms out to his sides, holding a lead rein. The donkey, Remus, trotted up to him, nosing cautiously. Levi raised a hand, catching the animal's bridle. He breathed against the donkey's nose. Carefully, he fastened the lead, walking Remus into the north barn.

Armin slid to the ground, a sharp pain in his ankle making him wince. Farlan's eyes were solicitous.

"Did Remus get ya?"

"He butted me..." Armin rubbed his hip, eyes watching the barn, where Levi had taken Remus.

"He's a sentry," said Farlan. "just like a watchdog. It's his job to protect the flock..."

"Hey!" Levi was striding toward them, rigid with anger. "Hey!"

His signing cut the air, _What did I tell you? Armin! What did I say?_

Armin bit his lip, heart pounding. _I'm sorry, I...._

_I said to mind the top field! Didn't I?_

_But I thought..._

_And now look! The fucking sheep are everywhere!_

Armin took a step forward. _Mind the top field,_ he signed angrily, _There is a big difference between 'mind the top field' and 'my donkey will try to gore you!'_

Farlan watched the altercation. It resembled knife-throwing, without the knives. Levi was seething, but Armin didn't back down. They stood, nose to nose, eyes locked.

"Guys," Farlan touched Levi's shoulder. "C'mon. Guys."

Armin shook like a leaf. He faced Levi, searching his face. The grey eyes narrowed.

Levi's shoulders sagged then. He placed a hand onto Armin's shoulder, inspecting him at arm's length.

 _He kick you?_ he signed.

Armin didn't respond.

"Yeah, he got booted pretty good." supplied Farlan.

Levi faced Farlan. "Take him to Dr. Jaeger."

 _I don't need a doctor_ , Armin's face was sullen. _I don't need to be taken anywhere._

Levi ignored Armin. "Take him to Grisha's. See if Eren can come back with you. He can ride with us and help round up the flock."

 _I can help,_ Armin took a step forward, hobbling on his injured ankle.

 _No,_ Levi signed flatly. _I've had enough of your help for one day._  He turned his back on Armin, striding toward the barn.

The sun was already setting, and the sheep moved through the orchard, like fuzzy ghosts.

"C'mon now," Farlan tugged at Armin gently. "Don't worry, he's done worse to me loads of times.

"Who, Levi or the donkey?"

"Both."


	8. Under My Skin

"You ever go out west?" Farlan asked Armin.

Armin sat in the passenger seat of Farlan's truck, bumping along a back road toward Norold.

"Sure," Armin winced as the truck bounced over a pothole. "I've been to Saskatchewan, for work."

"I'd like to see that. The prairies. The big sky."

Armin flexed his foot to ease the grinding pain. He glanced sidelong at Farlan.

"The sky _is_ big," he said. "It makes you feel so tiny. An endless, blue dome. Townships all laid out, in squares. Looks like a patchwork quilt, from the air."

Armin shifted in his seat.

"You didn't hit your head, did you?" Farlan looked at him.

"Nope. My head doesn't hurt. Just my ass."

Farlan chuckled.

_______________________

The medical clinic in Norold was across the street from the township's hospital, and sat on a two-acre parcel of land.

Farlan pulled up to the main entrance, shutting the engine off.

"Can you walk?"

Armin opened his passenger door, sliding down until his feet touched the gravel. His ankle hurt, but he could put weight on it.

"I'm okay. I think..." Tentatively, he lifted his foot off the ground.

Farlan frowned. "Stay here. I'll get some help."

Armin sighed, his frustration mounting as he pondered the fieldwork that still needed to be done at Churchfarm.

Farlan disappeared into the clinic. A few minutes later, he returned. Behind him was a young man with a shag of brown hair, sporting a green outdoorsman's vest. In his hand was a menacing, eight-inch syringe.

Armin's eyes widened in alarm. Forgetting his manners entirely he exclaimed, "What exactly are you planning to do with _that_?"

"Settle down," the young man held up a reassuring hand, "this will only sting for a minute..."

 _"It bloody will not!"_ Armin flattened himself against the truck.

Farlan hooted with laughter, clapping a hand onto the other man's shoulder. "Armin!" he gasped, "you ought to see your _face_!"

The man with the syringe was grinning at him. "Easy," he said, "we're just having a laugh." He held up the syringe. "This is for livestock."

"Live...livestock? So you're not the doctor?"

"Well, not the doctor you want. I'm the vet," he held out a hand. "Eren Jaeger," he introduced himself.

Armin sagged with relief. "The vet," he repeated. "You're the vet..."

 _"It bloody will not..."_ Farlan mimicked, still laughing. "Oh, Armin..."

"Farlan had texted me something about Remus. I wasn't sure if you were bringing him in," said Eren Jaeger.

Farlan wiped his eyes. "Armin and Remus had a little showdown. Then, Remus kicked in the north fence. Sheep got out, down into the orchard. Have to chase 'em all back out, on horseback, before they eat too many windfalls..."

"Aw, man..." Eren commiserated.

"Can you come help us?"

"No," snorted Eren. "I'm calving! Levi knows I'm calving. Why can't he ask Gideon?"

"If he asks my dad, he'll never hear the end of it. I guess I'll call Boyd Ral..."

"Why can't you ride down there?"

"I've got to take the ATV around to the highway side and keep the morons off the road."

"Well," Eren checked his phone, "I'll come by for a bit. But if one of my girls goes into labour, I might have to bail."

Eren turned his attention back to Armin. "So, you're Armin, eh?"

Armin nodded.

The vet approached him. "Here," his green eyes were kind, "Lean on me. Let's go in and see my dad."

__________

"Little bird bones," the bearded doctor regarded Armin. "Do you remember me?"

Armin, seated on the crackly white paper covering the examination table, shook his head. "I'm sorry," he admitted, "I don't think I do."

"Never mind," Grisha Jaeger said kindly. "You were very young. Seven, perhaps. You'd come up to Norold to see your Grandpa for the summer. You had a fractured arm, and you managed to crack your cast."

"I did?"

"Your left fibula," Grisha Jaeger nodded. "You were a very serious little boy. And," the doctor opened a drawer, pulling out a roll of athletic tape, "very brave. Your mother told me that you'd been bullied."

Armin nodded. "That is true. I've never found it easy to back down. Not from bullies, nor from antagonists."

"Nor, it would seem," the doctor's eyes twinkled, "from donkeys."

He eased off Armin's boot. The ankle was swollen, and reddened.

"I rolled it," Armin explained. "I've done it before. Hazard of the job."

The doctor manipulated the joint carefully, asking Armin questions. "Well," he said, "I'll pull a quick x-ray, but I doubt it's broken. You'll have to rest it. Ice, compression, elevation."

Armin nodded, knowing he was unlikely to comply with the instructions, however sensible they might be.

__________

Armin emerged from the clinic, walking, with his ankle taped-up.

"Good," Farlan said to him, "You can walk."

"I'm sorry," Armin shook his head ruefully. "about this entire situation..."

He got into the truck.

Farlan climbed into the driver's seat. "Never mind," he reassured Armin. "Don't you worry about it."

"Levi's angry," Armin looked down at his hands, folded in his lap.

"He's not, really..." Farlan said quietly. "Thing is, he really likes you, Armin. Hell, we all do. But Levi...I think...well, you're under his skin, Armin."

Armin swallowed. He didn't look at Farlan.

Farlan's phone rang then. He flicked on bluetooth. "Bo-fuckin-peep!" came Jean Kirschstein's voice over the speaker. "Lost his fuckin' sheep!" Jean cackled.

"Suck me," Farlan snorted. "How d'you know already?"

"Levi called Boyd Ral. He called Petra at the library, and she told my mom."

"Well, nobody called _you_ to help, jackass," Farlan retorted. "'Cause you're about as much use as tits on a fish outside of your little pie shop."

"Good thing your sheep are smarter than you," Jean remarked.

"Later, sucker," Farlan hung up.

"That's my best buddy," he explained to Armin, who stared at him, open-mouthed.

__________

Farlan dropped Armin at _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ , where he was due to have dinner with his moms, his Aunt Viv and Uncle Reynaud.

No sooner had Farlan disappeared back down the road, when his Aunt Viv came charging out of the front door, arms open wide.

"Armin!" she cried, scooping her great-nephew close. "Oh, here he is! My Armin!" And she'd kissed his cheek, thumping him heartily. "You've finally come!"

"Hey, Aunt Viv," he smiled at her, "I'm so sorry I didn't come see you sooner...there's been so much work to do in the field..."

Armin glanced up then, as his Uncle Reynaud approached. "Rey," cried Viv, "Look who I found!"

Armin's uncle embraced him. "Armin, Armin..." he rumbled. "How you keeping?"

"Fine," Armin nodded. Reynaud Joice was tall, black and had a booming, infectious laugh. His family came from Nova Scotia. "I'm a sea pirate," he'd told Armin, when Armin was little. Armin had believed him.

"Where is your parrot?" he'd asked.

"Parrot doesn't like snow," Reynaud had answered.

"What happened to you?" Reynaud observed Armin's limp.

Armin let out a long sigh. "I had a little run-in with the donkey at Churchfarm," he admitted.

Reynaud frowned for a moment, and then threw his head back and laughed. "Not that old Remus?"

"Yes, Remus."

"My, my..." Reynaud ushered Armin inside.

Hanje and Rico were in the kitchen, preparing skewers for the barbecue.

"Hi," Armin eased himself into a kitchen chair, "Mum..."

"Uh oh," Hanje pushed her glasses onto the top of her head, "What have you done...?"

__________

It was a warm evening, and Armin sat with his mums, Aunt Viv and Uncle Reynaud in the screened porch behind _Peddle's Seed and Feed_.

They'd enjoyed a lively shish-kebab dinner, discussing the Greenspace project, summers past, and local goings-on.

"That Connie," Viv remarked, "he's a wee spark, that one. Smart as a whip, but talks a blue streak..."

"Connie's a good tech," Rico remarked, sipping from a mug of hot coffee, "He notices detail."

"He noticed our Sasha," Reynaud remarked. "He's sweet on her, that's for sure..."

"He's a good kid," Hanje remarked. "he has his moments, but he'll treat Sasha nicely..."

Armin pressed his lips together, eyes silently entreating Hanje.

"And," Hanje teased playfully, "It seems that our Armin..."

"Mum!" Armin hissed.

"Yes?"

Armin glared.

"What, honey?" Viv was curious.

"Mum!" Armin crossed his arms across his chest, betrayed.

Hanje smiled playfully at her young ward.

"Fine," Armin gave up.

"Armin has a little crush, too," Hanje revealed.

Armin's cheeks flamed.

"That right?" his aunt's blue eyes lit up. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"It's not...well, it's like...it's someone I have great conversations with. He's Deaf. So...so it's nice to be able to sign with someone. I've only known him for a few weeks...but...

Viv signed then: _That's not surprising. Between the Deaf School and the Community Centre, you're likely to bump into Deaf folk in Norold._

 _He's a writer. He lives over in Church River._ "Levi Ackerman".

"Heavens!" Viv's eyebrows shot up. "Levi?"

Armin nodded.

"I knew his husband," Viv said. "Erwin. Used to come in and chat with me about apple grafting. Didn't grow up around here, but sure enough gave farming his best go."

"Levi," Viv shook her head. "Wasn't I best of friends with his mom," Viv said. "You want to see some pictures?"

Armin nodded, curiosity burning off the haze of his embarrassment.

__________

Armin sat at the kitchen table, with his Aunt Viv. On the table were her photo albums. They had stickers on them. Some were covered in neon doodles.

 _1984_ one was inscribed, _Property of Vivian Peddle. HANDS OFF._

Hanje and Rico played cribbage with Reynaud in the living room. Armin could hear Reynaud chuckling. _Beating the scientists again....again..._

Armin flipped open the album. Beneath the plastic film, colour photographs of three girls, with pegleg jeans and hair teased into frothy clouds.

"Wow," Armin smiled.

"Your great-grandpa married twice, as you know," Aunt Viv began, "His first wife was your Grandpa Lorne's mom. When she passed, he married my mom and had your Uncle Elliott and me. There was a twenty-year gap between your Grandpa Lorne and me, even though he was my brother.

Now, when I was in high school, Church River's High School was still being built, so the Church River kids bussed in to Norold to go to school with us. Kuchel Church and Faye Church - she was Faye Hawley then - they came from Church River. So did Gideon Church.

Armin peered at the three girls.

"You were pretty, Aunt Viv," he said. 

"Charmer."

"Here's Faye. And this is Kuchel."

She had dark hair, soft features and a billowy white blouse. Armin stared at the picture. Levi looked a little like her; around the jawline.

We were twenty-four that summer. Your mom, Maryann was the same age; she'd just married Ansel Arlert and moved down to the city.

Armin turned the page of the album.

"Oh," Viv commented. "These are just tractor pull pictures! Your Grandpa won that year. I was the only girl that competed in it. I showed them up!"

Armin turned another page. He stopped, breath catching in his throat. His fingers brushed the photo beneath the plastic. Kuchel Church, wearing a cute neon daisy-print dress, standing beside a fierce-eyed, sharp-featured young man with a shock of black hair. Lean and wiry. In his arms, he held a small bundle, out of which a tiny face peeked curiously.

"Oh..." Viv's expression softened. "I think I'm the only person in a world that's got a picture of all three of them.

Armin leaned over the album, fascinated.

"There's Kuchel. And that's Lin. Lin Ackerman. And the little baby, is Levi. She made me take that picture, and then she made me promise to keep it safe for her."

Armin bit his lip; he didn't want to betray Levi's confidence, but was also incredibly curious. He opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Lin Ackerman worked at every fair for years and years - the Norold Fall Fair, and the Lindsay Fair. He and his brother and the other carnies. I don't know where he spent his winters. Nor if he went to school. He could sign, but it was more dialect than ASL. When he was still young, fourteen or so, he'd hide himself away in the tents most of the time. The local kids teased him terribly. They called him 'the dummy'. They threw crab apples at him, then laughed when he vocalized. His brother Kenny would chase them away.

It made Kuchel furious. One year, she chased after them. She even cornered a few of them, telling them they ought to hang their heads in shame, for being so cruel. She said that folk from Norold, of all places, ought to know better than to tease a Deaf person.

Now, Faye Hawley - and don't you ever breathe a word of this - she used to take her dad's Trans Am, without asking. She'd collect Kuchel and me, and we'd go to the field parties that the carnies had in the summer. We'd share their fire, and their cherry brandy. They played guitar and sang songs.

Lin Ackerman was grown by then; nineteen or twenty I guess, when we were twenty-four. He was handsome. Handsome, and wild. He cared for Kuchel a great deal, but he also knew to steer well clear of Gideon Church and his buddies. He knew the farm folk thought he was trash.

"I wish...." Viv stopped, "I wish I'd stood by her...done a better job of being her friend. After she got pregnant, many folk whispered that the baby was Kenny Ackerman's. Because Kenny put roots down around here. But Faye and I knew better. Gideon was furious when she registered the baby and put Lin Ackerman's name on the birth certificate. Kuchel wasn't ashamed in the least, and she loved that baby more than life.

For a while, Lin used to come around Churchfarm every summer, keeping his distance but watching Levi grow. I guess he got too close one night, because Gideon Church got hold of him and gave him a licking. Or so I heard.

Levi...now, Levi was smart. He grew to follow Gideon everywhere. He could milk a cow by the time he was four. Ride a pony at seven. He may not have wanted to be a farmer, but he was born to it, and Gideon grew to love him, in his own way.

Armin sat, lost in thought.

"Trouble is," Viv said, "Everyone thinks they're on the right side of things, don't they? If Gideon Church had opened his door once to Lin Ackerman. Just one time....well, things might have been a whole lot different."

"I won! Again. Hanje, you are defeated!" Reynaud rumbled from the living room.

Viv put her arms around Armin. "But that's enough talk for now," she kissed him. "Come into the living room. Let's play a game that Rey won't win at."

Armin limped into the livingroom. He sat down beside Hanje, laying his head on her shoulder.

"Oh, here it comes," Hanje teased. "He wants something. What is it, Armin?"

"Mum...it's my day off tomorrow. Can I borrow the little front-loader?"

__________

Despite Farlan's assessment of his herding skills, Jean Kirschstein showed up on the concession road with a set of road flares and an arc light.

Farlan, draped in his canvas slicker agains the drizzle, squinted at him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I," said the mayor's son, "am here to herd sheep. At least if we set up the flares, cars will slow down and maybe we won't have flattened lambchops."

They set up the flares along the highway, and turned back eight or nine curious animals toward Levi, Eren Jaeger and Boyd Ral, who were riding through the orchard, driving the sheep back toward their enclosure.

An hour later, Levi buzzed Farlan. _Got a full count,_ he texted. _C'mon in._

They'd rigged a makeshift patch for the gap in the fence, and brought Remus back out into the field.

"There," Farlan had said. "Everything's as-was. No harm done."

Levi slid Farlan a sidelong glance.

"Oh, stop!" Farlan snorted. "It was an accident. You were pretty awful today. Nobody finds your temper charming. Only Erwin did." And he'd stomped away to the north barn, leaving Levi to ponder his words.

Levi watched Farlan's retreating back for several long moments. Then, he smirked to himself in the darkness.

He looked across the field. In the chapel cottage, a light still shone, shaped by the pointed stone window frame.

Levi made his way toward the light.

__________

Levi opened the chapel door and whistled softly. Armin's jacket and rain gear hung on a hook in the hallway, and his boots stood beneath.

On the kitchen table was a plastic container of leftovers, no doubt sent home by his Aunt Viv.

Also on the table, a prescription for painkillers, from Dr. Jaeger.

Levi felt an odd pang.

He went up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Here, the loft bedroom with it's brass bed, and a generously-sized bathroom, with a soaker tub.

The little bedside lamp was on. Armin had laid out a pair of flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt.

Levi paused, taking a step backward. He should leave, he reasoned. It was late.

The light was on in the bathroom.

Levi whistled again, not wanting to intrude but suddenly possessed of a need to make sure Armin was alright.

He entered the bathroom.

Armin lay in the tub, soaking himself. His hair was wet, pushed back off of his face. He watched Levi curiously.

Levi stood in the doorway, regarding the young man in the tub.

He'd known Armin for less than a month, and yet the inquisitive, lovely face had become as familiar as his own; seeing it calmed Levi immeasurably.

He entered the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet seat.

 _Hi,_ he signed.

Armin's wet hands came out of the water. _Hi,_ he replied.

Levi placed his hands onto his knees, fingers spread, and studied them. He looked up at Armin.

He raised his hands, signing slowly, motions gentle: _I'm sorry, Armin. I'm sorry that I turned my back on you today. I'm sorry I walked away. I know that is something you don't do...to a person that has experienced loss._

Armin was silent, considering what Levi had expressed.

He raised his hands, lowered them again. He signed: _I'm sorry, too. I understood that you told me to 'mind the top field'. The truth is, I chose to ignore your words, for the sake of...expediency. I had a lot of testing to do, and not a lot of time. I thought I knew better than you. I think I know best, most of the time. It gets me in trouble._

 _I'm hot-tempered sometimes,_ Levi signed, _but I'm not a violent person._

Armin nodded slowly. _I know that. I stood face-to-face with you. There was no hate in your eyes. No malice._

Levi looked at him. _What, then?_

_Concern. fear._

_Yes. All of that. More than that_...he slid to his knees, elbows braced on the rim of the tub. He reached out a hand, smoothing the wet hair.

"Are you okay?" Soft sound scraped from his throat.

A strange calm enveloped him then; he felt himself unfolding - a painful warmth that turned his skin inside-out.

Armin nodded. "I'm okay," he mouthed.

Levi leaned in close, lips brushing Armin's warm, wet cheek. He kissed the closed eyelids, the rounded forehead, the small nose. Finally, he nudged the pliant mouth open, the kiss lingering, tender.

"I want," he gasped, "to be close to you...as close as I can get..."

He struggled out of his pullover, stood and shucked his work pants, underwear and socks.

Levi slid into the tub at the opposite end, sinking into the hot water, limbs tangling with Armin's.

Armin pulled his swollen foot out of the water.

"Ouch," Levi said.

"It's not so bad," Armin mouthed clearly. "But I will pretend it is, so that you will coddle me."

They soaked for a time in silence, the hot Epsom salt bath leaching away the stiffness. When Armin's eyes began to close, Levi pulled the plug.

 _Let's shower off,_ he signed, _and go to bed._

__________

Perhaps it was the painkillers, or the heat of the bath. Maybe the soft light from the miniature, milk-glass lamp beside the bed. Or the gentle, heartfelt apology he'd shared with Levi. Whatever the cause, Armin lay in the brass bed, a calm, sweet buzz relaxing him.

He was awake, gazing dreamily at the milk glass, absorbing the tiny beads affixed to the lamp shade.

He felt Levi's hand brush his damp hair back, smoothing it. The hand traced the knobs of his spine, down between his shoulder blades to the small of his back. Levi opened his palm against the Remus-shaped bruise, blue-purple, that spanned Armin's right hip.

Armin winced.

"Okay," Levi said softly.

Levi fit himself carefully to Armin, spooning, legs overlapping. Armin's eyes slid shut, and he trembled.

He hoped that, if only for a moment, Levi would remain still; skin-to-skin, the warmth suffusing him.

He took another slow breath, trying to still the trembling. How was it, that he'd ended up in this bed? Being stroked and spooned by this bright, incredible man, seven years his senior? Levi's maturity aroused Armin enormously; his dark energy fascinated him.

Armin turned slowly, facing Levi, parting his legs, allowing Levi to pull him close.

The pressure only served to intensify the ache; Armin groaned as Levi's erection rubbed against his own, hot and hard.

He raised his face for a kiss; Levi's lips slid against his, ruddy and moist.

Levi raised his head, dark hair falling over his forehead. He searched Armin's face; the blue eyes were hooded, sultry, their message clear.

"Say it."

Armin arched against him with mounting urgency. "Fuck me."

Levi rose and padded over to the washstand. He returned with a Danish biscuit tin.

 _Cookies?_ Armin signed.

 _No, sweetheart. Not cookies._ Levi lifted the lid.

_Oh._

The tin held a box of condoms, lubricant, and scented oil.

_You keep your...your cookie tin here?_

Levi grinned.

 _Oil?_ Armin reached out a finger.

_For massage only. Not for inside of you. This is for inside._

_What..._ Armin was shaking, _What does it feel like?_

__________

Levi couldn't hear him, but Armin cried out helplessly. He lay on his belly, legs spread wide, writhing as Levi's fingertips, and then his tongue probed the little pucker between his cheeks. He thrust his hips against the worn quilt, the motion causing the brass headboard to thump against the wall.

"Levi," he whimpered, "Oh, God..."

Levi leaned carefully to the left, to avoid putting pressure on Armin's bruised hip. He rasped his tongue between Armin's cheeks, delighting in the shudders his attention produced. His mouth drifted over, softly biting the uninjured cheek, sucking at the taut skin. He slid two fingers slowly inside of Armin, twisting gently, coaxing the muscles to relax.

Armin's scratched at the bedding... _more_...and he arched his back, trying to impale himself on Levi's nimble fingers.

Levi slapped his ass gently, thrusting his fingers a little deeper and wiggling them. Armin squirmed, panting.

Levi crawled up alongside Armin, pausing to flick his tongue at the little nipple ring.

Armin pushed away a few inches so that he could sign: _I...clearly have been doing sex wrong...._

Levi laughed.

Armin regarded Levi; sleek and hard. He was like a lilac-point Siamese cat; nipples and cock flushed mauve.

Cautiously, Armin wrapped a hand around Levi's erection. It throbbed, and Levi hissed, biting his lip.

Pleased, Armin stroked softly.

_What...do we...._

Levi leaned over, pulling a condom out of the cookie tin.

"Watch me," he gasped. He opened the package, removing the rubber and rolling it carefully down the length of his shaft, leaving a reservoir at the tip. He squeezed the tip to remove any air, smoothing it.

He handed Armin the lube. Armin sat up, squeezing it into his hand. He looked at Levi, who nodded encouragingly.

Armin ran his slicked fist slowly down Levi's cock, drawing a moan from Levi.

Levi tried to be gentle then; he flipped Armin over, across the width of the old bed, with a pillow beneath his hips.

He squirted more lube onto his fingers, pressing them gently into the softened hole. Armin arched deliciously, his young body supine in the pale lamplight.

Armin drew in a slow breath, and exhaled.

Levi slid his cock between the rounded cheeks, the tip nudging inside of Armin. Levi held still, allowing Armin to rock slowly, accepting his cock into the tight, silky warmth.

"Oh..." Armin whimpered. He felt impossibly full, but the intrusion was smooth, and slick.

Levi grabbed his wrist, rubbing it softly _Okay?_

Armin nodded his head, gasping.

He began to rock slowly, the ache giving way to a throbbing pleasure. He rocked faster, pushing backward against Levi's hips. No matter which way he moved, the pleasure seemed to mount. He felt deliciously helpless against it's tide; pinned down and spread wide.

He twisted around, wanting to look at Levi. He caught sight of his lover's face, suffused and soft. It was an expression he'd never seen before.

Levi tried to move gently; restraint was nearly impossible as he buried his cock between the smooth, rounded buttocks. Armin writhed and squirmed like a little mink. Levi's belly cramped with the effort to slow the tide of pleasure.

Then, Armin had craned around to look at him, the blue eyes beseeching. Levi had frozen for a second, and then the realization had dawned. Armin wanted - _needed_ \- more connection.

"Okay," he said softly, "Okay, baby..."

He'd withdrawn gently, sitting up against the bed's headboard, and tugging Armin to gently straddle his lap.

Armin had eased himself down slowly, Levi's cock sinking into his flesh, inch by inch. His arms had gone around Levi's neck, and he'd pressed close. Levi had held Armin then, rocking and murmuring, and his boy relaxed, secure.

Levi reached down, sliding a hand between their bodies to stroke Armin gently. Armin's body fluttered and clenched around Levi's cock, and Levi gritted his teeth.

He felt it then, a wet gush across his fist as Armin came.

Levi snapped his hips, thrusting up and into Armin, his orgasm nearly painful in it's intensity.

He'd cried out, releasing his seed, his tension and pain in a flood.

He rolled to the side, withdrawing gently and disposing of the used rubber.

He reached for his lover, pulling him close.

"Armin," he whispered into the damp hair. "Armin..."

Armin burrowed against Levi's chest, spent. He felt himself drifting, a post-coital calm washing over him.

He scratched softly against Levi's chest. _More_.

"No," Levi said flatly, teasing.

He pulled Armin closer then, his lips against the shell of his ear, "Of course, more," he whispered. "Sweet Armin..."


	9. Honey and Wine

Levi was unsure if Churchfarm's rooster was bone-lazy or simple-minded. Whichever it was, the rooster rarely roused himself before Levi issued him a personal invitation, banging on his enclosure and barking at him. This particular morning however, Levi was late. As the sky to the east grew pinkish, the rooster, impatient for his breakfast, let out a loud gawp.

The dairy herd in the south field stirred, heavy with milk. The cows jostled into the dairy parlour, their entrance tripping Levi's iWatch app, which buzzed on his arm.

Levi Ackerman opened one eye. He lay in the old brass bed in the chapel cottage, curled around Armin. He nuzzled his face against the nape of Armin's neck, inhaling. The boy tasted sleepy-sweet, musky. Levi's lips parted involuntarily, sucking at the soft divot. Armin shifted, his bottom curving into Levi's groin.

Levi's cock twitched appreciatively. It had been overwhelmingly erotic, having Armin straddle his lap, squirming and trembling as Levi had pushed inside of him. Armin had pressed his cheek against Levi's shoulder, chest buzzing with moans.

Levi's iWatch tripped again. Farlan. _Where are u im not tromping all over lookin for u._

Levi slid his arm carefully from beneath Armin's head. _Chapel,_ he pecked. _I got south barn._

He felt the mattress shift, and then Armin sat up beside him, hair mussed like a small yellow haystack. Armin touched his shoulder. Levi covered the hand with his own, squeezing it.

 _Go back to sleep,_ he signed.

Armin shook his head. _No. I owe you and Farlan a day's work. I've cost you a day. Let me work._

_No._

_Yes._

_Armin, it's okay._

_Let me do something. I could always give the donkey breakfast?_

Levi's rusty-nail laugh broke the silence. "Hah!"

_I brought our little front-loader over from Norold. I can move rocks or pound in some posts._

Levi dressed. Armin sat on the edge of the bed with a roll of athletic tape, carefully bracing his ankle.

Levi stomped on the floor. Armin looked up.

_Sore?_

Armin shrugged indifferently. _It's not a big deal. I've turned my ankle dozens of times. It's my arse that hurts. I've got Remus to thank for that._

Levi leaned over, kissing Armin tenderly on the mouth. _You have only yourself to blame for that,_ he signed, _I wasn't the one being rough._

__________

"In Iowa," Farlan told Armin as they worked to clear Churchfarm's fallow field, "they've got twelve feet of topsoil. Can you imagine that? Twelve feet. In Ontario, we're lucky to get..."

"...Three," Armin finished.

"Grow corn here, you'd be lucky to get forty bushels an acre. There...you're looking at three-hundred bushels. Twelve-foot stalks. A forty-bushel yield in Iowa, you'd just turn under. Not worth it..."

Farlan coughed, heaving a large stone onto the pile he and Armin were building. "Jesus, I'm slower than molasses these days," he griped.

"Aren't you going down to Toronto?" Armin asked, "for testing?"

"Apparently," Farlan rolled his eyes. "Can't get anyone to see me until November, though..."

"Huh," Armin rubbed the back of his glove across his forehead.

"What about Kiki?"

Farlan shook his head. "She runs a fever, then by next day when we go see Doctor Jaeger, fever's gone. One day, she's croupy. Week after, she's fine. The kids' doctor in Lindsay thinks she'll grow out of it. Grisha thinks there's more to it, but again...there's a waiting list for the specialist. So, once a week, Isabel and I upset ourselves googling her symptoms, Bel yells, I go out into the barn..."

Armin was silent, considering Farlan's words. He bent, hoisting a ham-sized stone onto the pile.

"So," Farlan said carefully, "Are...are you staying on for a while? With.....with Levi, I mean?"

A gentle smile touched Armin's lips. "I don't want to go. I know how I feel. I'm just not sure how to put it...the thing is, I'm not very good at this stuff."

"Neither's Levi, so that's perfect."

__________

By one in the afternoon, Armin and Farlan had cleared a sizeable part of the field. Levi had done the morning milking and then disappeared into his office to do the week's ordering.

He received a text from Armin, around two. _Would it be okay if I go down into the orchard?_

Levi put down his pen and responded: _With or without the sheep?_

_Ha. Funny. To look at the trees._

Levi swallowed. A strange melancholy washed over him, like yesterday's rain. However, the fact remained that, while Erwin was gone, the orchard remained. And no one at Churchfarm had put forth a plan for it's development.

 _Fine._ He typed. And then _xoxo_

As soon as he'd sent the text, he let out an angry snort, cringing over the kisses and hugs.

 _xoxoxoxoxoxo_  Armin texted back, without any shame.

An hour later, Levi had finished his work, and, curiosity getting the better of him, made his way up through the north field, to the orchard.

He didn't see Armin at first. He glanced around, keen eyes spotting the pale head.

Armin stood in the middle of the orchard, balancing on an old apple crate and reaching up to inspect a tree branch. Levi chuckled. Erwin's grafts had been prepared at a height that put Armin at a disadvantage.

It touched Levi, that Armin seemed to regard the orchard, the grafts and the coloured wool flags, with such gravity. Armin teetered and raised his arms, his shirt rising up to expose a half-moon of pale torso.

Armin hopped off the crate, picking up a clipbard and jotting something down.

Levi approached, squishing through rotted sweet windfalls, and feeling a pang of guilt that he'd let the orchard decline.

Armin smelled of clay and work sweat; his face was grimy and his hair was pulled into a quick, messy knot.

He watched Levi, blue eyes soft and tentative.

"Hi," he said, facing Levi.

"Hi, yourself," Levi took a few steps forward, looking around, and then pressing Armin up against the nearest tree, kissing him hungrily.

"I hurt," Levi said roughly, "I hurt like a fucking toothache." He kissed Armin's open mouth again, biting at Armin's bottom lip.

Armin responded to the sting ardently, pressing against Levi until Levi grabbed his wrist, pinning it against the tree over his head. He looked into Armin's face. It was there again; the blue eyes darkened with an odd mix of trust, capitulation and ardor.

Levi let Armin go, long enough to sign, _I thought that spending time with you would be enjoyable. Stimulating. Even meaningful, to some degree..._

"So did...."

"No," Levi growled, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "No," and he signed: _I'm a mess. I am a total wreck. I can't wait to finish talking with you, so I can fuck you. I can't wait to finish fucking you, so I can talk with you. I can't get your smell off me. I keep seeing things I want to bend you over. I wonder what your voice sounds like. Your laugh..._

At a complete loss, he bent down, plucking a small white flower from the grass. He offered it to Armin, pressing his forehead gently to his lover's. _Be mine._

Armin accepted the flower, fingers shaking. "Yes," he said softly.

__________

Hanje had found a _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ catalogue from 2009, and inside of it, a cardboard sleeve with coloured pieces of wool taped to it. "Northern Spy" was one notation. "Royal Gala" was another. It was Erwin Smith's grafting key. Hanje had given it to Armin.

Armin showed it to Levi, as they walked through the orchard.

 _See here?_ Armin pointed out a green shoot, _This graft took. This tree will produce both Macintosh and Northern Spy apples. This one,_ he indicated another, _didn't. And these four are actually pear trees, and they'll fruit this year..._

He looked at Levi and took his hand, almost shyly. "I have an interest," he said carefully, "if you'd like me to help with the trees..."

Levi looked at the wool markers, with something other than guilt, for the first time in years.

"You will need," he said, "a taller crate."

Levi's iWatch buzzed then. It was Farlan. _Reynaud and Viv are up at the house._

"Oh!" Armin's eyebrows shot up. "I hope everything is okay!"

"Yah," Levi nodded, and signed: _I think he wants to buy my baler._

Armin was hoping against hope that his Aunt Viv wouldn't make a scene. She did. She hugged Armin, eyeing Levi with a mix of curiosity and mischief.

"Armin Arlert," she admonished, signing as well, "You're an absolute little dirt ball."

"I've been building a rock wall," Armin replied, "I owe Levi and Farlan a day's work after letting all the sheep loose."

"I see," she said.

 _Rey,_ Levi signed, _You want to have a look at the baler?_

Reynaud Joice nodded. _Rollie Stroud said it's in great condition. I'll have a look._

After Reynaud had taken a look at the baler, Levi asked the couple in for coffee. In an unhurried fashion, negotiations for the baler were conducted over a plate of peanut butter cookies.

Armin said very little. He stood at the kitchen counter, gripping a mug of coffee, eyes darting nervously from his aunt, to his uncle, to Levi. He wondered if they'd be able to tell that he'd been face-down on Levi's old quilt, knees spread, while Levi did unspeakable things to him with his tongue.

"Armin!"

"Huh?" he looked up, bobbling his coffee.

 _I swear,_ Viv signed, _I don't know how you don't get mowed down by a truck, always in dreamland. Go on out and back the trailer up, would you? Looks like we got ourselves a new baler._

Vivian Peddle watched her great-nephew head outside with Rey. It was good to see Armin dirty, sunburned and away from a computer screen.

She turned to Levi Ackerman, her expression kind, and measured. _Levi,_ she signed, _I need to have a word._

Levi had been expecting this, from the moment the truck had pulled into the driveway. Armin's family would have concerns about his interest in Armin. After all, he was seven years older, widowed, cranky...

 _You know that your mother was a very dear friend of mine,_ Viv began.

Levi blinked. This was coming out of the blue.

Viv swallowed. _Your mom, and Faye Hawley and me. We did everything together when we were young._

Levi nodded.

Vivian Peddle reached into her bag, pulling out an envelope. She placed it onto the table. _I've got something for you,_ she began. _Your mom made me promise to keep this safe. So I did. I suppose I'd meant to bring it over some years back, but then we've had our troubles, you've had your troubles, and I guess it passed out of mind. But, here it is._

Levi picked up the envelope. He opened it, and out slid a dog-eared, colour photograph. A family of three. He frowned, studying it. And then, felt a rush of heat to his chest.

His mother, he recognized. Sweet and smiling, wearing a flowered sundress. Beside her, a young man, younger than Farlan. Tanned, with jet black hair and the same sharp, delicate features that he saw daily in the mirror.

In the man's arms, a small baby, peering curiously out of a blanket.

Levi laid the picture carefully on the table, staring at Vivian.

 _I think,_ Viv signed carefully, _it's the only picture of all three of you, Levi. Your mother, your father, and you. And no matter what you may've been told, your mom adored Linwood. Lin was genetically deaf, just like you. He had a hard life. He was half-wild. But he'd never have hurt either of you. He was just a boy._

She looked down at the picture wistfully.

Levi raised his hands, began to sign, and stopped. He dropped his head into his hands.

"Vivian," he asked, "do you know where he is?"

She shook her head. _I'm sorry, Levi, I don't have a clue. Just that he travelled with the carnies. Have you no way of contacting his brother?_

 _I do. But Kenny is violent,_ Levi signed flatly. _He's unpredictable. I don't need him anywhere near Churchfarm._

Levi looked at the picture again. A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. _Thank you, Viv. It means a great deal to me, to have this._

Vivian Peddle stood. _You're welcome,_ she signed. _And by the way...my nephew is a very special person to me. He's all I have left in the world of our Maryann. See to it that you treat him well._

__________

"Petra!" Levi stalked in to the Church River & District Public Library.

"Petra!" He approached the front desk.

Petra was processing a return for Agnes Puckett. She looked up at Levi in alarm. _What's wrong? What's happened?_

 _Where's that book?_ He signed impatiently.

Petra let out a sigh of relief. _Wait, Levi. Let me finish._

Petra checked in all of Mrs. Puckett's books, chatting to her companionably. Behind Mrs. Puckett, Levi glowered, arms folded across his chest.

Once Mrs. Puckett was on her way, he repeated, signing: _Where is that book?_

Petra turned both of her hands palms-up. _You've just walked into a library and asked me 'where is that book'? What book?_

_My dad's drawings!_

Petra reached over, taking Levi by the wrist. _Levi. Levi...do you mean the folk art book that we'd found?_

He nodded.

She shook her head. _My friend, that was thirteen years ago. Do you remember the title?_

_No._

Petra frowned. _What's brought this on?_

_A picture of my parents that Vivian Peddle gave me. A picture of my father. I want to know what happened. And not just the Gideon Church version._

Petra rose, walking around the intake desk. She stood in front of Levi. _You don't need that book. If you recall, it didn't contain any traceable information, anyway. Just a cat picture. If this is something you really want, you should think about an online registry. Parents, looking for children - whether adopted, estranged, or missing. Children looking for parents. The registries have facilitators that match up requests. I think that's what you should do. We can do it here, if you want._

Levi paused. Shifted from one foot to the other. Finally: _Okay. Let's do that._

__________

Armin eased his truck backward, connecting the hitch to the trailer bearing the front loader.

Outside of the vehicle, Farlan shook his head. "Damn. How d'you get that first try?"

Armin got out of the truck, and fastened the hitch. "I've got a few talents. I can drive just about anything."

Farlan scratched his head. "Ever drive in a demolition derby?"

"No!"

Farlan grinned. "I kick ass at that."

"I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue." Armin said.

"I can burp the alphabet."

Armin cocked his head. "You got some free time this afternoon, right?"

Farlan nodded.

"Why don't you come down to Lindsay with me? I want to show you something."

Armin and Farlan drove down to Lindsay airport, where Armin turned in his latest samples and reports to Moblit Berner.

"Armin," Moblit looked tired, "I'll be ready for you in analytics in five days. Will you be done in the field?"

"Yes," Armin replied.

He turned to Farlan, tugging on his sleeve. "C'mon."

"Where we going?"

"C'mon."

Armin led Farlan outside, to the Greenspace Cessna.

"You said," he began, "that you'd never seen the big sky out west. Maybe...maybe this will do for now."

Farlan gawped, pointing at the sky. "Up there? _In that?_ You want to take my flying?"

Armin nodded. "Yup. I'm a licensed commercial pilot. That's how mum and Rico met. Flying."

__________

"Yahoo!" Farlan whooped as the Cessna peeled over the Kawartha Lakes. Below, the haphazard farms of the dairy belt spread, green and gold.

"There's town," Armin pointed. "Church River. And that little cluster over there, is Norold."

"Wow...fuck," Farlan whispered in awe.

"Now, look on your right...straight down...recognize anything?"

Farlan frowned, and then laughed delightedly. "Churchfarm! And over there...Hawley Acres...home," he said softly. The young farmer was quiet for some minutes, wistful and reflective.

"That's my home." he dashed a tear from his cheek. "I'm not ready to leave it yet..."

"Well," Armin said evenly. "We've fixed worse messes. We've already found stuff that the Ministry testing missed. Although we can see toxins, that is actually a good thing. It means there are reasons why people are sick. It means that we can build a case."

Farlan nodded. He scanned the horizon, breathtaking as the sun glinted off the water of Sturgeon Lake.

"Can I fly it?"

"No. That would be a no."

__________

 _Dinner_ , Levi had said. And then, oddly, _Jeans._

 _D'you mean at the diner?_ Armin had texted back, thinking of Jean Kirschstein.

_No - I mean, please wear jeans. I'll come for you at five._

Armin's mouth quirked. _Okay xx._

Levi had arrived at the chapel cottage just before five. He'd knocked, and then let himself in.

Armin had been waiting anxiously for him, and trying to appear as though he was not, by engrossing himself in a book.

As Levi entered, he jumped up, smoothing his clothing. Levi bore a small white bag. He set it down on the table.

 _Peanut butter cookies,_ he indicated. _When Rey and Viv were here, you were too anxious to even try one._

Armin looked sheepish. _I forget,_ he signed, _that Peddles and Churchs are acquainted. I thought that they'd come over to...well...to ask about you and me,_

He looked at Levi. Levi had on a pair of snug jeans, black boots and a curious, knitted sweater. He'd combed his hair, and shaved.

The sweater was grey, and had a large, black bird worked into the front. Beneath the bird, were letters.

Armin frowned. _G...no, Q-u-o-t-h. Quoth. As in, 'quoth the raven, nevermore'. That's clever._

"Hah!" Levi laughed. _Finally. Somebody other than Petra understands my sweater. Everyone thinks it says G-O-T-H. I gave up._

_Quoth the raven._

"Ready to go?" Levi led Armin outside. Two horses were tethered to the well outside of the chapel cottage.

Armin's eyes widened. He tugged on Levi's hand. _Are we riding?_

Levi nodded. _You know Checkers,_ he indicated a black-and-white mare. _You like her._

 _I do like her,_ Armin had often given the placid, curious mare carrot chunks on his way through the south barn.

 _I just...I haven't been on a horse in a very long time_.

_You just took Farlan flying in a can-opener and you won't get on a horse? Come...._

They approached the horses.

"Hi, Checkers," Armin said. He blew against her muzzle so she could scent him. She was a palomino, and her eyes were gentle.

_Mike Zacharius has invited us up to The Hive. It's north of Churchfarm, just up over the ridge. It's a nice ride in the evening._

Armin nodded, and turned, finding Levi standing close. The keen grey eyes were soft, tentative.

_I hope I haven't scared you off._

"Why?" Armin mouthed.

_You know why._

_I'm not a writer,_ Armin signed carefully. _I'm an engineer. And...and feelings can't be measured, or quantified. I can't always articulate my feelings. I can come off as aloof. You're...emotionally articulate. I actually like that I know where I stand, with you._

Levi embraced Armin. He did so delicately, finally understanding that it wouldn't be his last chance to do so. His hips pressed against Armin's, through the denim, and he was immediately flushed with need.

Levi kissed Armin softly, a mere brush against his mouth; not a question, but a promise.

__________

"What d'you do," Mike Zacharius gestured along the ridge line, "when your old man leaves you a slope?"

Levi and Armin walked with their host, up from the gravel driveway toward a series of colonial buildings, painted white and partially hidden in a stand of northern pine.

Armin signed as they conversed; Mike had progressed a little beyond _'How's your donkey?'_ but not much.

"See down there?" Mike pointed downward. "That's Dwight's piece. My brother's farm. He's got ten head of beef cattle, soy, and rye. I grew up down there, but every chance I could, I came scrambling up here to the sugar bush. I worked here every winter and spring, through high school. The air's different up here; sweeter.

 _No cow shit,_ Levi pointed out.

The group rounded the stand of pine, to a slope dotted with white conical structures.

"Oh!" Armin cried, "honey bees!"

"Yep. Hard to keep a roof overhead banking on maple syrup. I've no arable land, so I began bee keeping, I suppose eight years ago now. I used to have nearly a hundred hives; now, barely thirty. So what's not sugar bush, we free-plant bee-friendly perennials.

"The Hive," he explained, "is not only a restaurant, but it's also an education centre. School kids come up here to learn about bees in the summer, and maple syrup in winter and spring."

"This is fascinating," Armin complimented Mike. "I've been to Dwight's. Your place is the last property I need to visit, and then the survey is finished."

The Hive had a seasonal menu, supported by local Ontario farmers. It was a favourite destination of the summer people, and made a change from the diner for the residents of Church River and Norold.

Mike led his guests to one of six small, enclosed gazebos.

"There is a main dining room, but these are more fun," he nodded. "They used to be camping platforms, and we converted 'em to make private dining spaces."

Armin stepped inside. The octagonal gazebo contained a round table, cozy chairs, and was strung with white fairy lights, like fireflies.

"In the summer, we open the screens," Mike explained.

"It's lovely," Armin was enraptured. "And I'm starving."

 _He eats like a wild badger,_ signed Levi.

Armin smirked. "Levi thinks I eat like a wild badger."

The trio sat, and a young woman entered the gazebo. "Mike, would your guests like menus?"

"Thanks for asking," Mike smiled at the server, "Gelgar's making us up something special. He'll do you up a plate too, at your break.

Mike looked at Levi. _What will you drink?_ he signed.

 _Wine, please,_ Levi signed, for once not antagonizing Mike. And he spelled _S-U-M-M..._

"Summer wine! Hah!" Mike's eyes twinkled. He nodded. "Please bring us a bottle of the black cherry wine from 2014," Mike requested, "and a bottle of Shiraz. Thanks!"

The server disappeared through the mosquito screen. No sooner had she gone, when the screen rustled again.

Armin looked up, and then scrambled out of his chair to stand and greet the new arrival. Petra Bossard had joined them. She wore a sleek, black dress, and her hair, normally pulled smartly into a hairband, fell about her face in loose curls.

"Oh!" her eyebrows arched in surprise, "Levi! Armin! What a...what a lovely surprise." She leaned across the table, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek. "It's so pretty out here, Mike..." she looked around the gazebo.

Then, "Oh, shoot! I've left my phone in the car." Petra stood, grabbed her keys out of her bag and excused herself.

Mike watched her leave, an odd warmth lighting his eyes.

He felt Levi's punch, like a stone contacting his sizeable bicep. "You oaf!" Levi growled. "What's the matter with you?" He began to sign rapidly, in exasperation.

"No," Armin shook his head at Levi, speaking and signing, "No, I'm not saying that to Mike!" Armin looked at their host.

"Levi thinks..."

Levi batted Armin's hands to still them. "Did you see her? She thought she had a date with you. She dressed up, for you...."

He signed and Armin translated, _She never dresses that way to have dinner with me. You should go apologize! If you like her as much as I think you do._

Mike considered Levi's words. "You think?"

"I do," Levi crossed his arms with finality.

Mike sighed, stood and left the gazebo.

__________

He located Petra in the parking lot, standing by her car, smiling. With a careful look behind him, Mike approached her, reaching down to wrap her in a warm hug. She smelled of jasmine, and it made his knees buckle.

"What a pretty dress," he said softly into her hair. "You look lovely," and he bent his head, kissing her on the mouth.

He brushed the stray curls aside, gazing at her.

"Did you...did you find my phone?" she giggled.

"Yep. Under the bed," he produced the iPhone from his pocket, handing it to her.

"Do you think...Levi knows?" she asked.

"Nope. He just gave me shit for ruining our date, by inviting them. He thinks you wanted to be alone with me."

Her fingers brushed his strong neck softly. "I do," she whispered, "But Levi needs this. He seems to care for Armin a great deal. I think they're well suited...if we can just give things a little nudge, perhaps they might get together."

"It takes a special guy to cope with Levi being, well,.... _Levi,_ " Mike chuckled.

___________

"What about," Armin tried to gasp between kisses, "Levi...what about the horses? Don't they need to eat?"

Levi had pulled Armin onto his lap, and was nipping at the soft curve of his neck, just below his ear. He cupped Armin's chin with one hand, eyes burning in appreciation, and kissed him hungrily.

"Let's go home and fuck," he rasped into Armin's ear.

Armin shook his head. "Don't the horses need some dinner, too?" he pressed.

 _Tonight,_ Levi signed. _Don't worry. They get mineral and supper later. Did you enjoy the ride?_

Armin nodded, fingers playing with the nubby wool of the raven sweater. He heard Mike and Petra approaching, and hopped off of Levi's lap.

"Well," Mike grinned broadly, "Gelgar's cooking with wine. He's even putting some of it in the food...hope everyone is hungry!"

__________

Even Armin was stuffed. Gelgar had presented a platter of herb-crusted local pork tenderloin, balsamic-roasted vegetables, sweet potato frites and caramelized shallots.

"Hmm," Levi grunted, "That pickled prick can still out-cook me, any day. Wonderful."

Mike refilled his guests' wine glasses as the supper dishes were removed.

He looked around the little gathering. He raised his glass. "To absent loved ones," he said quietly.

"Absent loved ones," Armin said softly.

Their server reappeared, with a home-made pear tart, berry jelly and whipped cream.

"Good grief," Petra groaned.

Levi took a forkful of dessert, offering it to Armin. Armin pressed his lips together.

"Open."

Armin did, accepting the messy bite and snickering. "That's good," he nodded. Then, he leaned forward, rewarding Levi with a kiss.

Petra and Mike exchanged sidelong glances.

"So," Petra asked, "Armin, do you remember your first kiss?"

Armin laughed. "Um...yes. Yes, I do..."

"That was his first kiss," Mike teased.

"No!" Armin said. "My first kiss was an experiment. My cousin Sasha and I were twelve. She wanted to practice kissing on me, so she'd get it right with a boy she liked."

"And?"

"It was awful. She was very bossy about the whole thing. She promised to give me her magnifying glass if I let her do it."

"I could make a guess at Levi's," ventured Mike. Petra signed as he spoke. "Terry Puckett."

 _Terry Puckett was my first for a lot of things,_  Levi signed, _But, no. My first kiss was actually Petra._

"Oh!" Mike guffawed.

 _At the lake?_ Petra signed.

Levi nodded. _The older I get, the more I realize that relationships are complex. Nuanced. When I was a kid, I thought it was simpler - that there were boxes our feelings fit into: Friendship. Platonic love. Romantic love. Lust. Rivalry. I remember thinking that I had a very high regard for Petra; that our friendship was unique. I wanted to let her know. So I gave her a kiss._

 _You gave me a kiss as a consolation prize_ , Petra reminded him, _because I refused to be blood brothers with you._

_Oh, yeah._

_Levi saw no harm in two twelve-year-olds slicing their wrists and holding them together._ She rolled her eyes.

Levi shrugged.

"What about you?" he asked Mike, "Which of your brother's goats did you kiss first?"

Mike looked at Petra. "Well..." he drawled, "Actually, it was Petra, also."

"You shameless hussy!" teased Levi.

"I took her to the Christmas dance, in grade ten. They made it snow inside the gymnasium. Tiny bits of styrofoam that got stuck in your hair. They served us eggnog, in paper cups. MY brother, Dwight, spiked it with rum. They turned off all the lights, except for the blue spotlights. And we had a dance. I was scared to kiss her, but Dwight had dared me."

"That was your first kiss?" Petra asked.

Mike nodded. "Yep. And my second, and third, on your doorstep. I got myself home, well past my curfew. Next day, my dad - and Armin, he was a big son of a bitch - he came into my room, and took off his leather belt. It was thick, just about as wide as my wrist. And long. He hung it on the back of my bedroom door, and told me in no uncertain terms, what he'd use it for if I messed with Boyd Ral's daughter. He left it hanging there, all winter.

Scared the shit out of me - he had a temper when he got drink into him. I thought I'd best keep my head down. And by then....well, Auruo Bossard had stepped up. Auruo was funny. He made you laugh..." Mike trailed off then, his expression wistful. "And he was my friend. And God, there's not a day goes by I don't think of him, and of Erwin. Not a single day."

Mike laughed. "Erwin...oh, _Erwin_. Doesn't he show up here on the ridge one day, wearing sandals and an outback hat and he says, 'Excuse me Mister Zacharius...my name is Erwin Smith, and I'm researching goat....cheese!'" Mike shook his head. "Researching goat cheese. With a notepad. God rest him, Levi."

 _One Easter, Farlan and I washed his goat with beet juice,_ Levi signed, with Petra translating. _Erwin was beside himself. He couldn't understand why the goat was pink...He called Eren Jaeger..._

"Didn't everyone love him, though? Everyone loved him, Levi."

Levi nodded, words failing him.

"Armin," Petra said gently, "you need to know what a relief it is, to all of us, to have Greenspace here. We're hoping that your team can finally provide us with some answers."

Armin nodded. "Whether or not the class action suit wins in court, Greenspace will be able to help.  We'll be able to show, farm by farm, what toxins are present, and propose a plan for cleanup."

"So..." Petra asked, "does that mean you'd stay on with us, for a while longer?"

Armin looked at Levi.

"No," said Levi, his eyes twinkling, "I don't want you. You are nothing but trouble."

Petra realized, in that moment, that her friend had fallen in love.

__________

It rained; fat, hard drops, splatting on the barn roof as Levi and Armin fed and settled the horses for the night.

Spring was giving way to summer; the evenings held the light, and a green blush covered the dairy belt.

Levi showed Armin how to clip on Checkers' feed back, to give her oats and mineral. Armin smiled in the gloom of the barn, as the horse snuffled and chomped happily.

Farlan had left Levi a note in the south barn. _New dairy truck driver, hes goddamn thick as oatmeal, nearly took out the gate post._

 _I have early milking,_ Levi signed to Armin.

 _I'm climbing the ridge tomorrow_ , Armin replied. _It was good to get a look at it tonight. And then..._

_And then, your field work is finished._

_Yes._

Their eyes met, across the stall.

Wordlessly, Levi rounded the skirting board, and pulled Armin into his arms.

__________

Armin floated, half-conscious, as he lay in the brass bed in the chapel cottage. He surfaced, hearing the rain, insistent and driving, against the lead-paned windows. Then, he sank back into the depths of his dream; a place where Levi Ackerman's dark head bent, plying him with hot kisses, nibbling, causing his skin to pebble and his belly to knot.

He cried out, for the simple reason that he felt safe to do so. Safe, and supported. He tried to draw breath, rolling his hips a little to shift the mounting ache in his groin.

Rain again.

"Mmmm," he woke, his breath coming in gasps, his heart thudding.

He parted his lips, releasing a groan trapped in his throat.

Armin's eyes opened. The chapel bedroom was bathed in soft light from the milk glass lamp.

He shuddered. Levi lay between his legs, his dark hair brushing Armin's belly as he took Armin's cock slowly into his mouth, and released it. Levi pressed the flat of his hand to Armin's pubic bone, at the root of his erection. His lips worked languidly, teasing Armin rock-hard.

Armin raised his head, eyes huge in the dim light, watching his pink cock, shiny-wet, disappear into Levi's mouth.

He spread his legs, reaching down to fasten a hand in Levi's hair. The grey eyes flicked up, locking with his own.

Levi ran the tip of his tongue up the underside of Armin's cock, working it against the tender nerve just under the glans.

Levi pushed Armin's legs flat then, straddling his thighs.

 _You had wanted to try,_ he signed gently. _Is that still true?_

_Try...._

Levi reached over, finding a condom and opening it carefully. He touched the latex ring to the throbbing tip of Armin's cock, unrolling it along the pretty, curved shaft.

Armin moaned helplessly.

"Do you want to be inside of me?" Levi asked.

"Yes."

Levi smiled then, eyes hooded, lips curling in pleasure. He exhaled, his taut abdomen expanding and contracting. He straddled Armin's hips, breath slow and sure. The lamplight caught the shine of lube on the insides of his parted thighs.

Armin reached out, his hands sliding up Levi's thighs, and behind, to cup the muscular buttocks.

"You...made yourself ready?"

"Yes."

Armin slipped a tentative finger inside of Levi, finding his entrance wet, and softened.

Levi raised himself on his knees, guiding Armin's cock to press against his opening. Levi inhaled; a long, slow breath that seemed to untangle his soul. And then, his body began to undulate, his hips rolling slowly, taking Armin, inch by inch into his body. His eyes slid shut, lashes a dark sweep on his cheeks.

Armin arched off of the bed, hands gripping Levi's thighs as his cock was sucked into the tight, wet heat. The slow roll of Levi's muscled abdomen, his thick chest and shoulders, transfixed Armin. Levi rode him with a slow intensity that had Armin edging within minutes.

He tapped on Levi's thigh. One grey eye opened.

"I'm sorry," Armin mouthed, "You're making me come..."

"Ssssh," Levi looked down at him, his motions slowing. "Be still. Play with me..."

He leaned to one side, grabbing the tube of lubricant, and squirting it into Armin's palm.

Armin reached out, two fingers grazing Levi's cock, dusky and engorged. Levi made a sound in his throat, which encouraged Armin.

Armin ran his thumb up the shaft, rubbing the underside of the glans in slow circles, and looking up at Levi. Levi's bottom lip was caught in his teeth, eyes feral.

Armin closed his fist, stroking slowly. He placed his other hand against Levi's pubic bone, and tugged softly on the dark hair there.

Levi cried out, half-words and rocked his hips faster. The sweet, curved cock filled him, it's angle sparking his nerves, causing him to clench around it, shuddering with pleasure.

Armin began to thrust upward, fucking Levi harder. He tightened his grip on Levi's cock, stroking roughly.

Levi threw his head back and howled.

Armin's hips jerked off the bed, causing Levi's knees to spread wide, as Armin's balls slapped against his ass.

Armin had never seen anything as beautiful as Levi, proud and powerful, stripped down to pure need. He shook with the effort to stem the tide of pleasure, making his body buckle. Then, Levi released; a hot splash onto Armin's belly; another, and another.

Armin came then, his cock pulsing inside of Levi's tight little hole, breath stuck in his throat, legs scissoring helplessly.

He closed his eyes as the spasms finally ebbed. Levi shifted, disengaging and removing the used condom from Armin. He kissed Armin's belly softly, then took him into his arms.

The lovers said nothing; their breath slowed in tandem, limbs entwined. Armin wept then; relief and release, his tears seeping onto Levi's shoulder. Levi placed a hand onto his head, stroking his hair.

In the distance, thunder rolled over Churchfarm, over Hawley Acres, up over the Ridge, and away.

 


	10. Green Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an incident of...um...creative use of medicinal cannabis. To be fair, he paid.
> 
> Also: a note to canadiansamm and other readers who may be interested in locales. In Red Door and Cherry Kirsch I was pretty faithful to actual Ontario locations IRL. 
> 
> In this story, the towns of Church River, Norold and Wapassing are fictitious, but are heavily based on the Sturgeon Lake area towns of Fenelon Falls, Bobcaygeon and Buckhorn, where I spent many a happy day shoveling shit.

Levi sat very still, in the third booth from the door. Around him, the diner rattled and thrummed with the din of breakfast being prepared and served. Rollie Stroud and Louis Church, Levi's third cousin, hunched like plaid crows over cups of steaming coffee at the counter.

A young family, summer people preparing to open their cottage, occupied a table in the middle of the diner; two parents trying to negotiate with an adamant three-year-old about his breakfast choice. His teenage sister, ignored and misunderstood, slouched over her phone. She was garbed in torn black denim; her skin showing as creamy-pale slashes.

She looked up, eyes fixing on Levi; more specifically on his ebony hair. She had dyed her own a similar shade. Levi stared back at her. She grinned at him then, revealing a set of wax fangs.

 _Nice_ , Levi nodded approvingly.

He turned to look out of the window. Mike Zacharius' truck pulled up outside of the Church River District Library. Petra Bossard popped out of the passenger door. She bounced around to the driver's side, stood on her toes and leaned in to give the driver a kiss.

Levi smiled. He took a sip of hot tea, feeling it warm his belly and chest. The warmth spread lower, into his groin. Up his spine, and down his arms. He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his fist, studying the small white scars, like snail tracks across the back of his tanned hand.

"Jean!" he raised his hand.

Jean Kirschstein ambled over. _Morning,_ he signed, _two poached eggs, three crispy strips?_

Levi nodded. He beckoned Jean closer. Jean leaned over. Levi snatched the pen from behind Jean's ear.

"Hey!" Jean cried, "I need that."

Levi growled at him, and Jean held up both hands, backing off.

Levi flipped over his paper menu, and on the back, in a quick, spidery hand, he began to write again.

__________

Armin tried in vain to remember which of the farms he had visited boasted a hot tub. The nearest he could remember was the pig bath at Kirby Puckett's. Thom Wagner, his colleague, had enthused about a hot spring near Wapassing.

Armin eased himself to the edge of the bed, and stood gingerly. Everything hurt; his sprained ankle, his hip, and now his back.

"I've done something," he said to the empty chapel. "I've turned the wrong way." He grimaced, pulling his field sock on over the taped ankle. He flushed involuntarily, trying to remember exactly what he might have done.

He'd wanted Levi inside of him, and he'd wanted it hard; verging on pain.

 _No_ , Levi had been patient, but refused. _I can make sex sting a hundred different ways, but I won't be rough inside of you._ He'd flipped Armin onto his belly, pinning one arm behind Armin's back and smacking his backside. "Spread your legs," he'd growled. Chest heaving, Armin had complied.

Levi had slid inside of him, thick and burning. Armin had arched his back to meet the slow, heavy thrusts. "Oh," he'd grunted, "good....good..."

Levi had put a small amount of pressure on the bent arm, his fingers tightening, vise-like. "Wider."

Armin gasped, pressing his knees out sideways. Levi let his arm go, to grip the nape of his neck instead, pressing him down into the bedcovers.

"You close your legs..." Levi panted harshly, "when I say so...and not before..."

Armin had capitulated, unravelling as the world dissolved, silent mouth open against the fraying quilt. He came, soaking the bedcovers and convulsing like a little golden mantis beneath Levi.

I've _really_ done something, Armin stood experimentally. He felt an odd grinding in his hip. He reached for a bottle of Advil, swallowing two of them.

__________

The retreating glaciers had left a ridge, running like a spine up from the Church River basin. Here, the soil was markedly different; pocked and veined with all manner of material. A dense, coniferous forest had grown up along the ridge, blanketing the ground with copper needles. Here and there, the pinkish granite outcrops of the Canadian shield pressed up through the peat, like giant's teeth.

It seemed, to Armin, like an enchanted forest; it lacked the lush scale of the west coast, but was ancient, and beckoning.

He'd taken thirty samples, at different elevations as he climbed up toward The Hive. It was mid-morning by the time he discovered the horse-track, and emerged at the end of the gravel driveway.

A yellow Voyager schoolbus was parked in the lot, it's occupants inside, learning about the plight of the honey bee.

Armin trudged toward the dining room.

"Hey!"

He turned.

Mike Zacharius came around the back end of his pickup truck, popping down the tailgate. "You should've let me know when you were coming," the big farmer smiled at him, "I'd have given you a ride. I was just in town."

"No..." Armin huffed, winded after his climb. "I've come up through the forest...collecting samples."

"Well. How's about a sample of hot coffee?"

Armin smiled gratefully. He sat on the wooden deck, outside of the restaurant. Mike joined him with two steaming mugs of coffee.

Armin took a long swallow and let out a satisfied hiss. "I don't understand," he remarked. "How Levi can exist on black tea?"

"Strong coffee, smoked bacon, homefries, three pancakes, three eggs, juice and toast."

"Huh?"

"That's how I start every morning."

Armin chuckled.

"Didn't Levi let you borrow an ATV? That's quite a hike up the ridge."

"Sure," Armin said. "But...well, this may seem a bit unscientific. When I do field work, I like to walk. I like to...sort of, _feel_ the landscape. Observe it...but also...try and feel what is going on. I know that sounds odd."

Mike leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Not odd whatsoever," he replied amiably. "Matter of fact, I can relate. I don't know if Levi told you, but I witch for water."

"You..." Armin frowned.

"I witch. I can find water. For wells, and such."

"Oh! A witcher. Like a diviner. I know what that is. You can tell where water is. Like...with a forked stick?"

"I can find water," Mike nodded. "I use a golf club."

Armin blinked.

"I can _smell_ the water. I can tell you where it flows, and how deep. I witched Auruo Bossard's well with a nine-iron."

"Tell you what," Mike leaned his elbows on the table. "I can smell soil, too."

"I sniff soil and plant samples, sometimes." said Armin. "But most oftentimes, not. Not if there are health concerns. Then it's the opposite, and we wear protective gear, and stuff."

"I told Auruo," Mike said quietly, "I said to him, your place is rotten. But he'd had the home inspectors, and there was no mold they could find. And the well tested clean. Home inspector couldn't find a thing wrong. But I knew."

"You...knew?"

A single nod of the head. MIke ran a hand through his beard. "There was rot. Something wrong, with the soil."

Armin took another swallow of coffee. "Where else?"

"Up Erwin's place. Over in Norold, too. But see, you've got to be careful. It's a horrible thing, as you know, to lose a loved one. What I had to say, didn't help any. No science ever backed me up. So I saw no point in distressing my friends..."

"The soil." Armin regarded Mike, blue eyes sombre.

"The soil," Mike affirmed.

__________

"Last bit," Armin encouraged himself, trudging up the ridge and leaving The Hive behind. "C'mon, you."

His backpack dragged against his shoulders, sweat running beneath his Greenspace workshirt. Mike had offered to keep the samples Armin had collected thus far, however, as much as he trusted the burly farmer, he knew that a perfect chain of custody was required, to ensure that Mr. Bodt's case was not compromised. He meandered along the ridgeline. It was, he figured, about two-thirty in the afternoon. He pulled out his phone, annoyed to discover that there was no signal.

"Fuck," he grumped.

His foot throbbed dully. He'd forgotten to pack any Advil. His back felt odd; one moment, it was simply tight. If he bent or rotated in a specific way, a shooting pain vibrated down the inside of his leg. "That's a pinched nerve," he'd decided.

The forest opened up ahead of him. He emerged, blinking, the world appearing a bright acid marmalade through his field glasses.

He was on a promontory, looking down along the Church River Basin, from the north. In the distance, the deep blue ribbon of Sturgeon Lake. There, the town of Church River. He spied Churchfarm, looking much as it had from the air; the orderly county map making constant concessions to rivers, rock and trees.

During the past couple of months, the time had seemed to pass, dreamlike. He and Hanje had extended the project, as there had simply been more and more evidence unearthed. Armin had arrived in April, at spring thaw. It was now June, and the dairy belt was lush, and vibrant. The land had tugged at Armin, beckoning. He'd broken bread, and broken topsoil. And, well, broken fences. He'd laughed with Farlan, helped to pull a calf out of it's mother, built a rock wall that would last a hundred years. He'd given himself to Levi with an abandon that frightened him. 

He thought, jarringly, of his rooms at home in the house he shared with Rico and Hanje. He lived on the third floor, a charming, brownstone haunt in Toronto's west end. There was a bedroom and a sitting room, a bathroom and a tiny kitchenette. There was his home office, which had been a disaster until Hanje had shown him how to marshal the piles into wicker baskets. There were his debating team trophies and his collection of manga. He tried to imagine Levi sitting in the tiny rooms with him, sipping tea with the din and wail of Spadina Avenue in the background.

Because, whether he wished to or not, the time was coming for him to leave Churchfarm.

He headed off to his left, lost in thought, and wandered into a thick stand of mixed forest, which closed around him.

__________

Armin found a flat stone, and sat down upon it. Grimacing, he drew off his sock. His foot had ballooned. "Why now?" he grumbled, his thick brows coming together in a scowl. His cheeks were pink from exertion.

"Five more samples," he gritted his teeth. "Five more samples and then I can call Hanje and meet her at Concession Four."

He snipped at the athletic tape with his field scissors. He wiped his foot, and rolled a tensor bandage around the swollen ankle.

"This suck ass," he told the trees.

He stood, finding the support of the bandage sufficient. He exited the forest, sure that he'd see the Concession Road ahead.

Instead, Armin found himself facing a row of prefabricated buildings; greenhouses, with translucent plastic-domed roofing.

"Huh," he frowned. He walked onto the property. He wondered if it might be an outlying site belonging to Mike - perhaps something related to the sugar bush and the maple syrup lines. Then again, he'd left The Hive hours ago.

He approached the first of the two buildings. "Hello?" he called. There was no answer. Was this a property that had somehow been left off of his zone map?

He walked around to the end of one of the buildings. A plastic, green-lettered sign was mounted above the doorway.

 _KEN-A-BIS Dispensary_ it read.

"Ken-a-bis..." Armin pondered. He opened the door; the pungent, humid wall of air hit him in the face like a wet towel. Inside were rows and rows of green, multi-leaved plants. They stood neatly in raised irrigation trays, underneath a bank of grow-lights. These were off, the early summer sun beating down through the translucent roof giving the crop sufficient light.

Armin inhaled, the reek thick and cloying in his nostrils. He recalled the sign above the door. "Ken-a-bis...Oh! _Cannabis_..."

He walked gingerly down the centre aisle. "Cannabis," he muttered. "It's a weed dispensary."

He got to the end of the first building, and stepped outside, confused. Nobody in Church River had said anything to him about growing cannabis. He entered the second building, the pack on his back dragging him down like a sack of wet oatmeal.

"Hello?" he hollered. "Anybody here?"

This second building was cooler, and dry. Along one wall, a stainless steel counter, and banks of shelves. The shelves held clear, lucite boxes, which functioned, Armin supposed, like apothecary jars might have at a chemist's. These held dried, crushed cannabis leaves, in small bags, neatly labelled.

On the counter in front of Armin was a row of tough plastic shipping bins. He peered inside one of the bins. It held white paper bags, each stapled shut and affixed with a label.

 _Ken-a-bis_ was printed on each label, in green. Below this, an individual's name and prescription number.

"Somebody," Armin noted a tad huffily, "should have told Greenspace about this. It is part of the profile."

He pulled out his phone. Still no bars.

He took a step forward and cried out, the pain in his back sharp and sudden. Defeated, he sat himself down, plopping his bulging backpack onto the floor.

Why had he forgotten his Advil? Why had –

Armin looked up at the row of tidy lucite boxes. He raised an eyebrow, slowly.

__________

He'd put ten dollars on the counter, pinching it beneath the corner of one of the plastic bins. He'd then helped himself to one of the little bags of cannabis.

"Some species," he'd muttered, limping up and down the row, "have to be smoked, in order to alleviate pain. Others, do not. Others, one would consume. Some are intoxicants...some are not."

He leaned forward, both hands gripping the counter, features contorted into a mask of pain.

"Oh, fuck it," he gasped. "What's this one called? _Green Jesus_. Well. That's good enough for me..."

He took the packet and slumped to the ground, leaning against his backpack. He removed a small ceramic crucible from his kit, and a lighter. He covered the crucible with a piece of field wrap, leaving a small hole.

Then, he lit _Green Jesus_ up.

He inhaled, and immediately began to cough harshly. He gripped the crucible, so as not to spill it's contents. "Ha..." he hacked, "Rough..."

He inhaled again, with more restraint. Held his breath and exhaled through his nose.

"Maybe," he mused, "I just need to sit down."

He shut his eyes.

"Well, well," A rough voice drawled, "What we got here?"

Then, a click.

Armin's eyes flew open. Standing over him was a tall, dark shape. Bearded, flinty-eyed, with a broad-brimmed hat. The man wore a long, dark coat, and black boots. Cradled in one arm was a shotgun, and this was levelled at Armin.

Armin yelped, scrambling to stand, and succeeded in hooking his foot in the strap of his backpack. He pitched, face-first, onto the floor, hit palms hitting the linoleum with a splat.

The little crucible clattered and rolled underneath a table.

"I–" he gasped. He felt a hard object jab him between the shoulder blades, and looked over his shoulder. It was the barrel of the shotgun. His belly turned to water.

"Please!" he bleated, tensing into a ball. "Please, point that somewhere else!"

The man snickered, and poked Armin with the weapon. Armin rolled over, crab-walking backward until his back hit the metal shelving.

Chest heaving, he looked up at the man's face. His beard was black and pointed, shot through with grey. His eyebrows were peaked, and his dark, lank hair was swept beneath the hat. His eyes, small in his face, were a penetrating grey.

Armin swallowed. Then, as he remembered something, a shock like ice water.

"You're the gravedigger," he whispered.

The man stood stock-still for a moment, staring. Then, he threw back his head and laughed.

"The gravedigger," he shook his head, amused. "That's good..."

Armin smiled weakly. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm from Greensp–"

"Shut it!" the man barked. He eased the rifle against his shoulder.

Armin turtled. "Don't!" he cried. "Y-you don't need to point a _gun_ at me! This...this is _Canada_!" he implored.

Another chuckle. "Nope," the man said conversationally, "Nope, it's not. Canada's back that-a-way," he jerked his head to the south. "This is an Ojibway First Nation."

"Ojibway?"

"Elbow Lake Reservation."

Armin's body buzzed. His face buzzed. There was a familiarity in the man's tone that unnerved him. And yet, it also made him smile. He did so, grinning up at the dark man, his blue eyes veiled.

"Heh," said Armin.

The man leaned against the counter, relaxing his grip on the weapon somewhat.

"I know," Armin waggled a finger at the man, giggling softly. "I know...who you are."

The man sighed. Not taking his sharp eyes off of Armin, he reached down to his belt, producing a handheld radio.

"Constable Crow," he drawled slowly, "I got a package for you."

The radio crackled. A woman's voice. "This is Crow. What d'you want, Kenny?"

"Kennnyyy!" Armin burst out. "Yes, _Kenny!_ Oh, man..."

"I found," Kenny spoke into the radio, "a little rabbit in my veggie patch."

"What?" Constable Crow's voice held a note of annoyance.

"Got a young fella here, helped himself to a bag of Green Jesus, and..." Kenny crossed one leg over the other, "I'm making myself a citizen's arrest."

Armin Arlert burst out laughing. He laughed silently, helplessly, hunched over on the floor.

"Jesus Christ," grumbled the man in annoyance. "Crow," he said into the radio, "you best come get this one."

"I don't have time for your shit today, Kenny."

"I'm not playing games," Kenny's tone became cold, "Green Jesus ain't medicinal. It's hardcore. Either you come get him or I'll drop him on the Concession line and drive away."

"Fine."

Armin had quieted. He sat on the floor, one leg folded underneath the other.

"You called the cops," he shook his head. "but I _paid_."

"You're trespassing."

Armin snorted. "Please. Spare me. How do you think people are able to knock on other people's doors? Everybody's trespassing, until someone opens the door."

"You're a cheeky little fuck."

"I don't think you're Ojibway," Armin said cryptically, jutting his chin out defiantly and wagging a finger at Kenny.

"I'm not," Kenny replied. "I'm part Seminole. From Florida. My dad was Irish. The Ojibway lease this land to me, because the, good, upstanding, _God-fearing_ folk of Church River don't want someone like me around, dirtying up their town."

"I paid," Armin was sticking to a point.

"Where's your green card?"

"I'm from Green....space," Armin explained.

"That's for fuckin' sure," Kenny drawled.

"Louis Church has a Jesus bobblehead on his dash," Armin said, randomly.

The steel dispensary door opened then, and banged shut again.

"Kenny!" the Constable approached the dispensary owner, and the young man puddled on the floor. "Put it down!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Kenny uncocked the hammer and laid the shotgun on the table. "It's not loaded. I was just entertaining myself."

A tall woman stood in front of Armin. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a brown uniform with a bear crest on the shoulder, and shiny black boots.

She squatted down, regarding Armin. He read the patch on her shirt. "Crow," he said carefully.

Her eyes were a clear, ale brown. "What's your name?"

"I know who he is..."

"He's Kenny Ackerman," she agreed. "This is his dispensary. Who are you?"

"Armin," he said. "I _paid_."

"Armin, I'm Ymir. I'm going to bring you with me, and we can talk. Is that okay?"

"My pack," Armin said, fisting the straps. "I can't leave this!"

"Bet he's got a whole wad more stuffed in there," Kenny noted helpfully.

Ymir picked up the heavy pack. Armin rose unsteadily.

"It's coming with us,"

"But..."

Constable Ymir Crow glared at Kenny. "It's coming," she repeated emphatically, "with us. I'll sort it out at the detachment."

Armin leaned on the officer.

"Let's go," she said to him.

Armin turned, pointed two finger-guns at Kenny Ackerman, and winked.

"Shit's gonna get real, buddy!" he giggled, and was tugged firmly along by Constable Crow.

 


	11. Bear Clan

Armin watched, with an odd detachment, his vomit hitting the dirt road. He spat and squatted there, unmoving.

"Okay," Constable Crow was beside him. "Are we....oh, okay, _not_ finished yet..."

The Constable straightened, stretching her back. The young man, Armin, had a strange, greyish tinge to his skin.

She looked down, not without sympathy, at the small shoulders hunched over the ditch.

At length, Armin sat down on the gravel shoulder.

"How do you feel?" she inquired.

"Fantastic," he said softly.

"I'm pleased to hear it. Let's go, then."

Armin sat in the back of the Elbow Lake Police SUV, bathed in a sweet, sunny glow. His skin seemed to have grown fuzz; protective and warm. He felt the acceleration of the vehicle in his bones, and it thrilled him.

The SUV pulled up outside of a cinderblock municipal building. It sat in a stand of pine, overlooking Elk's Bay.

"Let's go," Constable Crow was tugging at his elbow.

Armin turned his head, slowly. He smiled benignly at her. "Your freckles..." he said softly.

Constable Crow shook her head. "Now!" she said firmly.

__________

Armin sat in the lockup, on a fold-down bench, peering through the steel mesh.

"I've never been behind bars," he noted, running his hand along the textured mesh in fascination. "And now that I am, it's not really _bars_ , is it?"

Constable Crow passed him a plastic cup of water. "Sip this," she instructed. "and sit still."

Her radio crackled.

"Crow." she responded.

"I thought you were off home?" a man's voice.

"No. I got company," Ymir Crow replied. She peered out the window, noting Kenny Ackerman's black Buick pulling into the parking lot. "And now, I got more company. Where are you?"

"Tacks Bay. Heading back now."

"See you."

Armin watched as Ymir Crow picked up his backpack. "No! No, you need to put that down, Constable. Please."

"Why?" she asked him, tilting her head. "What's in here?"

"My samples. My dirt." Armin stood up.

"May I look inside?"

He paused. Looked at the bear insignia on her shoulder. "If you will respect the chain of custody, I consent."

"You can't technically give consent. You're intoxicated." she told him. "But, you are also in my custody for the time being, and I need to make sure you don't have a bomb or a weasel in here."

Armin pressed his forehead against the grate, trying to work out if a weasel would fit in his backpack.

"Ymir!" Kenny Ackerman banged his way through the door of the detachment, "I'm not messing here, I want to file a complaint!" he growled.

"Sit down," Ymir gestured toward a padded chrome chair by her desk.

Kenny Ackerman spied Armin, peering at him through the steel mesh.

"What you smoked, ain't cabbage!" Kenny jabbed a thick finger at Armin. "Can't just help yourself, willy-nilly. It's a dispensary! Meaning, goods get dispensed!"

"I know who you are," drawled Armin. He favoured the tall, dark man with a cryptic smile.

"He's as stoned as a _coot_ ," Kenny snorted, turning his attention to the backpack. "What you got there? Let's have a look."

"Kenny! Have a seat and wait for me, or leave!" Ymir snapped.

Ymir plopped the backpack onto her desk. She looked up, to see a large pair of blue eyes watching her intently.

She extracted a wallet. "May I look at your ID?"

"I don't know, I'm _intoxicated_."

She sighed. "I'm opening this wallet to determine your identity, and to see if you have any medical conditions of which I should be aware. Now...Mr....Armin Arlert. Age twenty-four."

"Bull- _shit!_ That's fake, no question," chimed in Kenny. "He's not a day over twenty."

"Environmental Engineer," Ymir read, "Greenspace."

"Yes," Armin cried out in exasperation, "That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you!"

He slid down onto the floor, still watching the proceedings through the mesh. Ymir reached into the field kit, extracting a series of neatly labelled, sealed bags.

"Those are my lab samples," Armin said. "Please don't open them!"

"Looks like hash to me," Kenny Ackerman opined.

Ymir located Armin's clipboard. She opened it, thumbing through the forms. "Greenspace. Is that the same company that worked up near Manitoulin last summer?"

_Armin heard her voice as low hum; a hum that he could somehow see, silver-grey, swirling in front of him, like mist. The mist solidified, taking on the form of an animal._

_"A bear," he breathed. He closed his eyes. In his mind's eye, he saw the bear, walking across the field at Churchfarm. It was blue dusk; a low mist blanketed the fields. The bear meandered up the fire road, and across the field, toward Farlan's bungalow. It ambled through a sea of short stems, pale as mushroom stalks. As the mist cleared, Armin was able to see that the stems were in fact, human fingers; bled white and reaching up through the soil._

_He screamed._

_The bear turned, slowly. It's eyes, like Armin's, were blue._

__________

_You'd better come._

Levi Ackerman squinted against the low evening sun, peering at his iWatch.

 _You'd better come._ The message was from Ymir Crow, Constable at Elbow Lake First Nation. Levi took a swig of tea from his thermos. He looked up, to see Remus watching him.

"Kenny's dead," he told the donkey. "Dead, or causing trouble."

 _I have to go up to Elbow Lake,_ he texted Farlan.

_Why?_

_IDK. Ymir Crow messaged me._

_Im coming too_

_No, you're not. I don't need any grief off Gideon._

He tapped the watch, sending a message to Mike Zacharius. _Got to go to Elbow Lake. U busy?_

____________

_Armin wondered why he'd never tried to fly before. It was so easy. He spread his arms and thought about it...and there he was, flying high above Churchfarm. He circled, flying above the orchard, above the fields and the dairy parlour. He flew over Hawley, huge and pristine. He flew over Petra Bossard's hilly little farm. Above the ridge, past the Hive. He dipped and dove, sandwiched between the deep blue of Sturgeon Lake and the sky. He was looking for the bear._

_It began to rain; fat, sad drops, hitting his wings, and stinging his face. His wings seemed to melt then, weakening, and he plummeted toward the lake._

_"Armin." he heard it as a growl._

"Armin!"

He opened his eyes. The room swam, blurred vanilla-white. Someone was bending over him.

He squinted, trying to focus.

"Armin, can you hear me?"

He raised a hand to his face, relieved to find it intact.

He blinked. The man bending over him was bearded, with tanned skin and round, wire-rimmed glasses.

"I saw the bear," he said hoarsely.

The man nodded.

"I saw the bear..." Even as he said it, Armin's dream began to disintegrate. "No, I _saw_ him. He wanted me to follow him..."

He looked around curiously. "Who're you?"

A large, long-fingered hand hovered over his face, pressed against his clammy forehead. On the man's wrist were leather bracelets, with small silver charms that jangled softly.

"I'm Zeke."

"Zeke?"

"Yes. Zeke. You're in the infirmary at Elbow Lake."

Armin tried to sit up, his head was light and tight as a balloon.

"Are you...a doctor?"

"A healer."

Armin sat up, drawing his knees up and laying his forehead against them.

"I'm in a lot of trouble," he said quietly.

He raised his head, looking around. He was in an adjustable bed, one in a row of six, in a long, narrow room with white walls and a dark, polished floor.

"I'm still at Elbow Lake?" he tried to make sense of what seemed like hours of fractured dreaming. "What time is it?"

"About ten at night."

"I was in jail."

"You remember why?"

"I smoked some weed, at a weed dispensary," and then he added weakly: "but I paid."

"No," said Zeke, "I paid. What you smoked, belonged to me. Something that I use in my practise. Kenny makes it for me. A special compound."

"Well, I don't recommend it," Armin said soberly.

"Your mother is coming."

Armin flopped back against the pillow miserably. "Oh, great..."

"We need to have a conversation."

"About me?"

The bearded man smiled. "No, not about you. About what has happened. About the sickness, and about the land."

__________

Levi had driven as far as Mike's place, racing up the driveway and laying on the horn. Mike waited for him, holding up both his hands. "Okay," he mouthed. "Okay..."

Levi's face was stony. "Get in."

Mike shook his head, bending to look into the driver's window. "No, we'll take my truck. They know my truck on the Rez."

"Fine," Levi opened the door, pushing Mike sideways, and strode toward the grey truck.

They got in, and Mike turned to look at Levi. "You better wind your neck in," he said slowly.

Levi flapped a hand at him. Mike caught his wrist, uncharacteristically serious. "I mean it. You got Farlan and Bel to think about. You don't know what's going on, so just settle the hell down."

Levi pulled his wrist loose, without rancour. He took out his phone, and texted Armin.

 _I've had to go see someone,_ he texted, _Back later._ He was annoyed for a whole host of reasons, not least of which was that this incident had ruined his last weekend with Armin.

__________

The only way that Armin seemed able to sort himself out, was to keep repeating conversations.

"You're a healer," he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, facing the man who'd introduced himself as Zeke.

"I am. I'm also a teacher. I teach law."

"Then...you're Ojibway?"

"My mother is," Zeke corrected. "My father, he lives in Norold with his new family."

"I'm from Norold," Armin said, "Peddles."

"I know the name," Zeke nodded. "but I don't know you."

"I live in the city," Armin told him, "My Grandpa was Lorne Peddle. I'm here with Greenspace, and I'm a field technician. We're here gathering data to create a profile, and identify toxins in the environment."

"My father is the doctor in Norold. Grisha Jaeger."

"Oh!" Armin raised his eyebrows.

"I also have a little brother, a vet," Zeke told him. "I don't see them much."

The door opened then, and Constable Crow stuck her head inside. "He lives?"

Zeke nodded. "He lives. Has Kenny withdrawn his complaint?"

Ymir eyed Armin carefully. "Under the circumstances, yes. But he's not saying any more without you present."

__________

 _You're not dead,_ Levi signed. _Ymir told me to come up here, so I assumed you were dead._

"Nope," Kenny Ackerman slouched in the chrome chair inside of the police detachment.

"Are you dying?" Levi growled.

Kenny Ackerman took out a pocket knife, flicked it open and began carefully paring a hangnail.

He looked directly at Levi. "Not today," he grinned.

Levi Ackerman strode across the office, looking out of the window. Mike Zacharius leaned against the wall, watching him apprehensively.

Kenny lobbed a pencil at Levi to get his attention. _Sorry I didn't come to the funeral,_ he signed. Levi hesitated a moment. The language was very similar to ASL, but thick with itinerant patois.

 _What,_ Kenny signed, _You're respectable townsfolk now? Don't use hobo anymore?_

Levi's eyes narrowed. _Do you have something to say to me?_

Kenny turned the blade slowly, baring his teeth and examining his reflection in it.

"Who's Armin Arlert?" he asked.

"Why?" barked Levi, crossing the floor. Kenny stood. So did Mike.

"Best put that down," Mike's eyes flicked to the knife.

"Oh why's that?" Kenny smirked, "You think I'd stick my nephew, my own flesh..." he turned to look at Levi, "my own _flesh and blood_ , right here in the cop shop? I'm a businessman these days, I am. I don't need any trouble."

He flicked his wrist, and the knife zinged across the room, embedding itself in the wooden desk with a _thock_.

"Armin?" Levi demanded.

"He asked for you," Kenny's tone was conversational, "just before he went out of his mind, passed out and landed in the infirmar -"

His words were cut off as Levi flew at him, his hand closing around Kenny's windpipe.

"Where?" Levi thumped his uncle against the wall.

Kenny grabbed at his wrist, loosening the grip. "Don't anyone teach you _manners_ , down there with all those lovely, churchy folks? Happens I found your new _boy_...smoking himself a snootful of my merchandise, sat in the middle of my dispensary this afternoon."

"You're lying."

Levi released Kenny. _You're lying,_ he signed. _What have you done?_

_Who me? Nothing. I just sit up here, minding my crop, troubling nobody. I keep an eye on you, fairy-god-garbage that I am, just to see you stay in one piece. The Ojibway don't bother me, and I don't bother them. Beats tramp life, so it does._

Levi's eyes narrowed.

 _Now,_ Kenny signed carefully, _Seeing as you're the one to come up here and put yourself into my business...how about you calm down?_

_Where is Armin?_

_In the infirmary. Up Elk's Bay Road._

Levi stood, nose to nose with Kenny Ackerman for a long moment. Then, he strode out of the detachment, Mike following him.

__________

"The trouble with brushing elbows with other scientific disciplines," Hanje said gently, "is the false confidence that we develop."

She sat on the edge of Armin's bed, reached over and squeezed his arm.

"Take Connie," she continued. "Connie observed the small animal corpses in and around the building foundations. He found some similarities in presentation. That doesn't make him a biologist, does it? He's done his part."

Armin, feeling empty and disoriented, said nothing.

"Likewise," Hanje continued, "having you know a thing or two about botany doesn't make you a plant expert."

"I clearly, _obviously_ , know that now," Armin said dully.

"I understand your intention. And yes, I'm sure there was something in that dispensary that would have - green card or none - afforded you some pain relief, but there were also a dozen things that were harmful."

Armin sighed. "I can't understand how, as one technician, I've created such a _fucking mess_ over a two month period."

Hanje smiled. "I could tell you stories, my dear...things Rico has done. Things your father did, and good God that list was long..."

"I know. But..."

"But you believe that you're somehow more competent, better and _smarter_ than everybody else."

Ashamed, Armin looked down at his hands, picking at the thick white bedsheet.

"The day that...that you came to live with us...I was terrified. I'm not exaggerating. I think I lasted all of three hours before I called Rico, who was in the north, and begged her to come home."

"No, you didn't."

"I did. Exactly that. I was afraid."

"Of what?" Armin looked at her.

"Of your _pain._ Your grief. Your tears. Afraid that there was nothing I could do, to fix it. Afraid of your questions. Of not knowing how to comfort a little child...so many things."

"I never knew that."

She leaned over, kissing his forehead gently. "Good," she whispered.

__________

After Hanje left, it was quiet. And in the quiet space, Armin saw the bear whenever he shut his eyes.

"Shoot," he whispered. "What do you want?"

He thought about the insignia of the Bear Clan, the community of Ojibway that sheltered him. He thought about their bearded, bespeckled healer, part tender and part bitter.

He thought about Erwin Smith and his coloured yarn and his huge heart and how it was abhorrent that he was gone.

Mostly, he thought about Levi Ackerman, and how, like a small branch of northern spy, he'd somehow become grafted to Levi; still bearing his own fruit, but conjoined all the same.

"What am I supposed to do, now?" he wondered aloud.

He opened his eyes, and Levi was there; he stood in the doorway, fear and apprehension clouding his face.

Armin looked up. Offered Levi a wan smile. And burst into tears.

Levi crossed the room in three strides, sat on the bed and pulled Armin into his arms.

"It's okay," he said against the pale hair. "You're okay..."

Armin pushed against his chest, looking up into his face, and signing.

_This...this is what happens. This is what I do. This is what you get. Lost sheep and donkey standoffs and laced pot and missing boots. I'm not a...a strong, patient, sheltering person, for you._

Levi regarded Armin. _You look so sad,_ he signed, brushing at the boy's tears with his fingers.

_Do you understand what I'm telling you?_

_Of course I do. You are not Erwin. You think that Erwin was patient and consistent and reliable, and that allowed me to be creative._

_Yes,_ Armin signed.

_Well, perhaps I am now the person who is patient and consistent and reliable, so that you, in your turn, can be creative. And curious. And enterprising._

"You're not patient," Armin told him.

Levi laughed.

You pretended to be patient to get into my pants.

 _Okay, yes I did._ Levi lifted a hand, cupping Armin's cheek.

"I feel safe," Armin whispered, tears spilling over. "I feel...wanted."

Levi brushed his rough cheek against Armin's, much like he had on the night of the first Town Hall. He parted his lips, fitting them to Armin's, tasting salt tears, and exhaustion.

Armin's fingers scratched gently at his shoulder. More.

Levi deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue teasing Armin's mouth open. Armin moaned, feeling the kiss deep in his bones.

__________

Armin drifted into a fitful sleep, his breath catching in his chest. Levi pulled the covers up and let himself out of the infirmary.

He found Constable Crow in the detachment, with Kenny Ackerman, Mike Zacharius and Zeke Jaeger.

"What now?" he asked.

"I've spoken with Director Hanje at length," said Zeke. "Tomorrow, we'll meet, all of us."

"You want to stay at mine?" Mike offered.

Levi shook his head. "I'm staying with Armin."

Mike nodded.

"Well," Kenny Ackerman moved toward the door, "It's well past my bedtime. All this excitement's done me in."

Levi followed Kenny out.

"Hey."

Kenny stopped, without turning around.

"Look at me."

He turned. Levi's expression was wary.

He lifted his hands and signed simply: _Is he dead?_

Kenny raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms, sucking in his breath. He considered toying with Levi, and decided against it.

 _No, Levi,_ he signed back. _Lin isn't dead._

__________

Zeke Jaeger sat, cross-legged, in the middle of his small cabin. He lifted a small pipe to his lips, inhaling. Slowly, he exhaled. He repeated this twice more, listening to the crackle of his fire, the patter of rain outside, and the far-off whine of a car engine.

He stared into the hearth, vision blurring as the flames danced and morphed.

A slow thrum began, working its way up from the earth, into his core. He shut his eyes, chanting softly.

When he opened them, the bear stood before him, swaying back and forth as it watched him.

"You have had a busy day," Zeke told it, "What would you show me now?"

 

 


	12. Crossed Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flagging this chapter for descriptions of both a past incident of bullying, and also a past assault.
> 
> Also...I have quietly back-edited to correct Levi's mother's name/Farlan's daughter's name from Pachel to Kuchel. I have no explanation for my dumb. But it is fixed.
> 
> Finally ready to post this chapter! Can't wait to share it with you...and thanks from the bottom of my heart for taking this journey with the boys and for all of your kind feedback...you are sweethearts, and it is food for the soul. xx

Three-hundred years prior, an ancestor of Ymir Crow might have encountered a black bear along this stretch of valley, where blueberry and raspberry bushes butted up against the wetlands.

Ymir sat on the back tailgate of a battered El Dorado, which was pulled off of the road and parked under a stand of pine. She wore a camouflage jacket, jeans and scuffed brown boots. On her head, a threadbare Manitou baseball cap.

She regarded a small black bear, which was staring at her from across Reservation Road. A low mist rose out of the ditch in the grey, pre-dawn light, blanketing the wetlands.

The bear raised herself slightly, snout bobbing as she scented the human across the road.

"It's just me," Ymir said quietly. "Like almost every morning. Who were you expecting?"

With a soft groan, the bear turned and ambled back into the bush.

Ymir stretched her legs. Soon, she could go get some sleep. It had been a quiet summer on the Reservation; no trucks, and no trouble.

 _Bree-dee-dee-dee_ a sound like a bird call, coming from the bushes, to her right.

"Hi, Jackson," Ymir said.

A small, wiry boy popped out of the brush. He had black hair, shaved at the sides, and a skinny neck like a young otter.

"You knew my call," he said, picking his was out of the brush.

"Yep," Ymir shifted.

"But, you didn't know I was _there_ ," Jackson surmised. "Not until I called."

"Yes, I did," Ymir was hesitant to burst his bubble.

Jackson frowned.

"But," Ymir continued, "I've been in the bush my whole life and I'm good at tracking. Nobody else would've known..."

Jackson smiled, revealing a gap where his left front tooth should have been.

"See the bear?" Ymir asked.

"Yeah."

"Be careful. She might have cubs. Stay out of her way."

"She got two." Jackson nodded, climbing up onto the tailgate.

"You see anything tonight?" Ymir asked him.

"Nah. Just the septic truck."

"Okay," Ymir looked down at the boy. "Did Kenny pay you?"

Jackson Smoke nodded. He patted his jacket pocket. "I got almost enough for a new tooth."

Ymir considered this. She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a few bills. "Here," she said. "Kenny paid me, too. Take this."

"No!" Jackson shook his head. "That's your money."

Ymir nudged him with the money. "I have a job. You don't. Do you want to start grade seven without a tooth?"

Jackson reluctantly accepted the money. "This is a loan," he specified.

"Sure," Ymir said.

Jackson swung his legs idly. "Did a guy break into Kenny's yesterday?"

Ymir snickered. "Well...yeah. Sort of. Not a bad guy. Just a lost guy with a sore foot who didn't know how to use the medicine."

"I bet Kenny's mad," Jackson concluded.

"Yeah. He's pissed."

"Did you arrest the guy?"

"I took him to the detachment because he was high. I didn't want Kenny to do anything to him, and I couldn't let him wander away. I had a responsibility to him."

"A white guy?"

Ymir nodded. "He's one of the environmental workers that have been on the farms all spring."

"He doesn't sound too smart," Jackson decided.

In the valley below, a rooster crowed. Ymir hopped off of the tailgate. "Well, here comes the day, ready or not. Hop in. I'll take you back."

__________

_WHERE. THE HELL. ARE YOU. YOU AREN'T HERE._

Levi stirred, his joints complaining. He was slumped in a padded chair in the infirmary at Elbow Lake. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at his iWatch.

The message was from Farlan. Levi wondered if it was past five-thirty, and was shocked to see it was actually seven-forty-five.

He bolted upright in his chair. "Ah, damn!" he hissed.

In the narrow bed beside him, Armin stirred. He rolled over, watching Levi quietly.

 _You stayed here all night?_  Armin signed.

Levi replied with a dismissive flap which expressed: _obviously._

 _Sorry,_ he tapped into the watch. _So sorry, got stuck at Elbow Lake._

 _STUCK HOW?_ Farlan was not yet ready to abandon shouting at Levi in all-caps. _STUCK IN A DITCH?_

_No. Armin got in some trouble up here, and now, it seems that Kenny and Zeke have something to say, to Greenspace._

_You could have text me would have taken two minutes. So I missed making the milk quota this morning THANK YOU FOR THAT, so the dairy truck went to Sunderland instead. Maybe you can do without 650 dollars today BUT I CAN NOT._

Levi pulled himself out of the chair, fumbling for his boots.

"What is it?" Armin sat up. Levi ignored him.

_Sorry Fart. I'll come straight back now. Sorry._

_Don't worry about it,_ Farlan messaged back, _I already called my dad._

"Fuck!" Levi growled, supremely annoyed at himself for abandoning Farlan. Gideon would, no doubt, have some choice words for Levi.

Levi scooped his socks off the floor, jamming his feet into them. He pulled on his pants. His iWatch continued to buzz.

Armin sat up, quiet and remorseful. Levi stopped thrashing around and regarded him.

 _It's later than I thought,_ he signed. _I left Farlan in a bad spot this morning._

Armin nodded. _I'm sorry,_ he signed. _You go. I need to speak with people here. Hanje and I do. I'll find my own way back later. I have to pack up my stuff._

Levi froze, one arm in his shirt.

Armin began to get dressed, shoulders slumped. He didn't look at Levi.

Levi heard the thudding of his own heart as a pulse in his jaw; he hadn't actually considered what it might be like, having Armin pack up his things, and leave Churchfarm to begin the next phase of his assignment.

Anxiety blindsided him, as he stood in the infirmary, throwing him off-balance. It seemed as though Armin was slipping through his fingers, like pale sand.

Armin didn't open his arms and reach for him; he pulled on his shirt, and then began to make the bed with a slow detachment that confused Levi even more.

__________

Ymir Crow dropped Jackson Smoke off in front of the peeling, prefab bungalow where he lived with his Grandma.

Yawning hugely, she decided to drop by the detachment and get some coffee. Benj would make coffee. She pulled into the parking lot, and climbed the wooden stairs.

"Benj?" she called.

"Yeah. You want coffee."

"I want coffee."

Ymir wandered into the kitchenette, pouring coffee into a styrofoam cup and capping it with a plastic lid.

Constable Benj Smoke, Jackson's older brother, sat at his desk, booting up his computer. He looked up at his colleague.

"See anything last night?" he asked.

"Nope," Ymir sank into her own chair, regarding the blackened screen of her own computer. "Just your little brother trying to sneak up on me," she grinned.

Benj Smoke smiled back at her. "You had some excitement yesterday, when I was at Tack Bay."

"I guess so," Ymir leaned on her elbow, popping the tab on her coffee and taking a long swallow.

"Kenny flip out?"

"Yep."

"I would've paid money to see Kenny flip out on a stoned white kid."

"It's not quite like that," Ymir flicked the tab of her coffee cup with her thumb. "He's a technician...one of the workers that've been crawling around Wapassing all summer."

She looked up at Benj. He'd gotten up, pulled his long, black hair into an elastic and put on his jacket.

"Benj, you remember the trucks?"

The young Ojibway Constable looked up at her. "Sure. Why?"

__________

**SUMMER 2004, ELBOW LAKE RESERVATION**

"You..." the tall, bearded man in the black coat pointed at Benj Smoke. He looked around the Elbow Lake Community Centre at the small gang of teens. His furtive eyes settled on Ymir Crow, "...and you. Come with me."

She'd been thrilled and frightened at the same time. Face deceptively impassive, her eyes had flicked to the others - mostly boys, and older than her - that The Zombie had overlooked.

He'd picked Benj Smoke, who was sullen, taciturn and had tattooed his own arm with the words, 'NO FEAR'. Unfortunately, Benj hadn't had the most critical eye, and the tattoo actually read 'NOF EAR'. Ymir had been the only one with the balls to tease him about it.

"Hey, NOF EAR," she'd chuckled, sucking on her teeth.

'You like girls,' he'd replied. He hadn't meant it derisively; the observation had been an indication that he'd been watching her. He knew. Ymir, all long limbs and sharp angles at fourteen, had narrowed her eyes at him.

"So, don't bug me," Benj said matter-of-factly, "I won't bug you." 

After that day, Benj would sit beside Ymir whenever they watched movies at the Community Centre. Ymir would hide herself in the shadows outside of Benj's house, waiting for his dad to finish raging so that Benj could escape out of his window, to join her by the river.

The man the teens called 'The Zombie' had come to Elbow Lake that year, when Benj and Ymir were both fourteen. He'd come with three trucks, and after a month, there stood two steel buildings on a piece of property that he'd leased from the Band.

Shortly thereafter, a fence had been erected around the buildings. A guy had come and installed irrigation, and sprinklers.

Finally, a sign had been erected over the entrance. "KEN-A-BIS," Benj had puzzled, trying to make sense of the words. "What's KEN-A-BIS?"

"NOF EAR," Ymir had replied.

The Zombie always wore black: boots, pants, coat and hat. He wasn't exactly pale-skinned; they'd heard somewhere that he was half-Seminole. He had hard eyes, yellow teeth and bony, ghoulish hands.

He terrified the teens, so their natural reaction was to feign bravado and indifference.

It was not long after the words KEN-A-BIS had been mounted above the door, that The Zombie had come to the Community Centre.

"You," he'd pointed at Benj, "and you.."

Ymir had nearly pissed herself. She'd followed The Zombie outside, glancing sidelong at Benj.

__________

**1984 AMARILLO, TEXAS**

The air rang with the sound of ball peen hammers striking steel pegs. Under a deep blue Texas sky, the Amarillo Fall Fair had rolled into town; amusements, rides, midway, curiosities.

The carnies - riggers, construction crew, engineers - had a depth of knowledge indispensable to the Fairs and Exhibitions which popped up across North America as the seasons cycled. They were a rough, close-knit bunch; itinerant, often illiterate, but highly skilled. These workers undertook fair set-up and take-down, and during the fair, ran the rides, manned the midway and served up cotton candy, corn-dogs and popcorn.

Kenny Ackerman sat in the shade of the cinderblock wall of the Fair's Agricultural Building, with his little brother Linwood.

Lin was cracking open peanuts, eating the first of each pair and lobbing the second toward a flock of plump, grey pigeons, whose diet did not seem to be suffering.

Kenny toed Lin in the leg.

His brother looked up. Poised on the edge of manhood, Lin had sharp grey eyes, fawn skin and a shock of black hair falling over his forehead.

 _Lin_ , Kenny's long fingers expressed his brother's name-sign, _You're not a kid anymore._

Linwood studied the long, pockmarked face. He nodded.

Kenny spoke, and signed; it was an itinerant lingo, one which was currency among the Deaf that spent days train-hopping, and sleeping rough.

"I need you to take my meaning," he looked at Lin directly. "You're eighteen now. You're not a kid, and if you get yourself into trouble, you won't get any free passes or say-so anymore. You're an adult."

Lin shrugged, as if to say: _Yes....I know all of this._

"You mind yourself," Kenny continued. "Keep hold of your temper. No matter...what anyone says. Or what they do. You think you got it bad, trust me, you don't want to be inside."

 _How would you know?_ Lin responded. _You've never been to jail._

"Cause I been smart," Kenny leaned forward, frowning. "You be smart."

Linwood snorted, _I'm smarter than you._

"I don't mean book-smart. I know you read. I mean common-sense smart. Street-smart. That can be in short supply with you sometimes."

_Yeah._

Kenny grabbed a handful of Lin's nylon jacket, for emphasis.

_Yes. Okay, Kenny! Yes._

Kenny let go. He handed Lin a paper bag. "Happy Birthday, kiddo."

Lin opened the bag. Inside, a black-and silver pen, with a silver reservoir, a small hose and a little case of nibs.

Lin let out a happy grunt, his face lighting up. _Airbrush!_  he spelled out excitedly. _Thank you!_

He cocked his head. _Where'd you get it?_

"I borrowed it from someone in Smyrna, Georgia. It needed a new home."

__________

Long-haul drivers came and went. Some were familiar to the carnies, others weren't. The second afternoon in Amarillo, a rig showed up, towing a Scrambler ride. The driver was short, pugnacious with an underbite and an anchor tattoo.

The Fair's foreman had approached the driver to ascertain where he'd come from. The driver had listened with half an ear, his eyes trained on the ass of a teenage girl in cutoff shorts.

Kenny and four others had been dispatched to unload and set up the Scrambler ride.

"Who might you be?" Kenny had asked the driver. The man had looked the darkly-clad carnie up and down, shifting the toothpick in his mouth. He'd decided Kenny wasn't worth a response.

Two days later, as Kenny worked the roulette wheel and Lin roamed the fairgrounds, spot-checking electrical connections, Kenny observed that the porcine driver still lurked about.

Kenny spied his brother, heading up behind a row of brightly coloured booths. The driver shambled after him, at a distance.

Kenny's eyes narrowed. He radioed the pit boss to come and cover his booth, and followed the driver.

The driver had approached a group of college girls. They'd been drinking, and were giggling as the driver spoke to them.

Lin, oblivious to the goings-on, was wrapping duct tape around an exposed cable.

"See him?" the driver said to one of the girls, gesturing toward Lin.

She nodded, chewing on her gum.

"You think he's cute?"

She began to laugh, exchanging looks with her friends. She nodded.

"Well, I'll tell you. He's also simple as _fuck_ ," the driver gestured. "He's a retard. Ain't never had a girlfriend. Can't talk."

Kenny froze, positioning himself at the corner of a booth.

"Say," the driver licked his lips, "I'll pay y'all ten bucks to show him your tiddies."

The girl laughed. "You will _not_ ," she said.

"Ten bucks." the driver held out the bill. He bent down, picking up a bit of gravel. He threw it at Lin, hitting him in the back.

"Uh?" Lin turned. Frowned.

"Go on," the driver smacked the girl's ass. "Show 'im!"

"Give me the money first!" she sneered. He did.

The driver threw another pebble at Lin. "Hey, ree-tard! You like this?"

The girl raised her tank top, bearing her tiny pink buds and hooting. The driver licked his lips appreciatively.

Lin let out a cry of concern, holding up both of his hands. "Stop!" he said.

The driver howled with laughter. "Listen to him!"

"Stop it!" Lin yelled. His face flamed red, and he began to shake. "Fuck you!"

The girls ran away then, still snickering. The driver watched their retreating behinds appreciatively.

A second later, he found himself pinned to the back of the booth, the point of a Bowie knife underneath his jaw. The leer melted off of his face, as he looked into the stone cold eyes of Kenny Ackerman.

Linwood had joined his brother, fury and humiliation darkening his fine features.

As Kenny held the knife to the driver's throat, Lin plunged a hand into the driver's pocket, retrieving his wallet.

"Hmmm," Kenny raised an eyebrow. He pressed with the knife, coaxing a tiny bead of blood from the driver's thick neck. "Who we got here? Mister...Archie Staynes. Well. Mister Staynes, looks like we got ourselves a bit of a pickle. That being, you're still breathing the same air as us. This is a problem."

"Fuck you," the driver spat, "Damn weirdo ree-tard fuck."

Quick as lightning, the Bowie knife zinged across the fat cheek, laying it open. The driver yowled.

"If," Kenny growled, "you're still here when the sun goes down, I promise you, you won't see it come up again. _Archie._ Now git!"

The driver shambled away, grabbing a handful of paper napkins and pressing it to his bloody cheek.

Kenny wiped his blade in the grass, flipping it neatly closed.

Lin had slid down the back of the booth until he sat on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes full of rage and tears.

"Linny..."

_Don't touch me!_

Kenny sat beside the teen, unable to offer comfort, and unwilling to leave him.

__________

New Year's Eve 1984 found the carnies north of the border, working in Canada, at the Quebec Winter Carnival. French had been the only thing that Kenny and Lin's Creole father had given to them, which didn't leave a scar.

Lin could read and write in French. Kenny could get by speaking it. It had been on New Year's Eve that they'd met Reynaud Joice. He was a mechanic travelling with Conklin Shows, from Nova Scotia, and he could sign.

The carnies camped at a trailer park, renting four dilapidated trailers and lighting a huge bonfire. It was so cold that their snow pants melted and distorted.

Kenny sat with Lin and the black Nova Scotian, inside one of the trailers, sharing a flask of cherry brandy.

"Where you headed?" Kenny has asked, signing as well.

 _Ontario,_ Reynaud Joice had spelled out. _I want to get myself a farm. You boys?_

 _We just come and go,_ Lin, the young one, had supplied. _I wouldn't mind seeing Alaska._

Kenny, who found he had no affinity for cold weather, smacked his brother. _This may as well be Alaska_ , he signed. _This whole country's just like fuckin' Alaska._

Lin considered this. _I like Canadians,_ he noted.

"Well," Reynaud told them, "I'm heading to Winterlude next. Then down near Toronto. There's a bunch of small fairs down there. Good work. Little towns and such. Norold. Church River. Dairy country."

 _Let's do that,_ Linwood looked at Kenny. _We've never been there. We've been to Florida a thousand times._

__________

Kenny Ackerman threw back a shot of _Wild Turkey_ , thumping his shot glass down onto the makeshift crate table in front of him. His drinking companion, a no-nonsense girl with large blue eyes and a hockey jersey, finished her shot of the strong liquor and banged it down, without flinching.

Around the two of them, a field party was in full swing at the north end of the Norold, Ontario fairground. Itinerant workers from different parts of the country greeted one another, chatting and laughing. Strains of music wafted from campfires; songs of the road.

Kenny Ackerman liked Ontario. The pace of life was different; he found that he had less occasion to look over his shoulder. The show runners, such as Conklin, paid well. Feeling the weight of a full wallet, he peeled a twenty dollar bill off and placed it onto the table.

"Are you sure this is money?" he asked the girl. "Your Canadian money looks like play money."

"I'm not playing," she raised one eyebrow. She plunked a twenty on top of his. Kenny sighed.

Each of them placed a hand onto the table, on top of a sheet of newspaper, fingers splayed.

"First to make four," Kenny nodded.

He took out his Bowie knife.

The young woman nodded. "Nice." She pulled out a six-inch hunting knife. "First to four," she agreed.

They began to stab the blades, rapid-fire, between their spread fingers. Reynaud Joice watched the contest keenly. His decision wasn't required; the girl beat Kenny handily, two fingers ahead.

"Hah!" she grinned, jamming her knife into the table. She lifted the sheet of newsprint, to prove she hadn't skipped any fingers.

"Well, strike me dead," Kenny whistled softly. He pushed the forty dollars toward the girl. She pocketed the cash.

"What's your name?" Kenny asked her.

"Viv," she lit a smoke. "Viv Peddle."

"I'm Kenny," Kenny introduced himself. "This here, is Rey."

"Well," the blonde's expression changed, and she smiled warmly at Reynaud, "Very nice to meet you, Rey."

Kenny stuck his head up, trying to locate Linwood and make an introduction.

Lin, however, had made a friend of his own. He stood at the edge of the firelight, in signed conversation with a dark-haired girl. She wore a long, multi-coloured skirt and a white blouse. And she could sign. She was using ASL, and laughing periodically when there was a communication hiccup between her symbols and Lin's patois.

She took his hands in her own then, leaning forward and kissing him softly. Lin looked down shyly, his dark lock of hair falling forward.

"You tell me," Viv Peddle broke Kenny's reverie, "that he is good people. Because that's my best friend Kuchel, there," Viv had picked up her knife, and wagged it at Kenny Ackerman.

"Hand on my heart," Kenny told her, "That's my brother. And he's the sweetest soul you'll ever meet. It's me that got all the asshole genes in our family, not Lin."

__________

**2004, ELBOW LAKE**

"You, and you..."

Kenny Ackerman had picked Benj Smoke and Ymir Crow, and they'd followed him outside.

"I've got jobs for you, if you want them. I pay fifty dollars a week."

Ymir looked at Benj, eyes round. Fifty dollars. That sounded like a fortune.

He eyed the two kids. Benj Smoke was what he was looking for. Hard-eyed, street-smart. He could hold his own, but didn't pick fights. He didn't sneak into the brush to drink.

Ymir had been a surprise. She was an old soul, trapped in the body of a little tomboy. Her eyes missed nothing.

"What it is, is this," Kenny continued. "I grow cannabis, and I make medicine. I need a license to do this. There's plenty of folk would like to help themselves to my crop. So what I need, is eyes and ears. And I'm not stupid. I know you kids know every inch of these woods. So what I need you to do, is watch. I want to know who comes, and who goes. I want to know who drives in, and out."

He looked at each of them.

"What you got to do, is mind me. You got to do what I tell you. You don't ever approach anybody. You see something off, you come get me. Understand?"

The teens nodded.

"And, you keep your traps shut. No bragging to your little pals. You don't tell anybody what you're up to. Not anybody. You don't want to mind me, you can quit. That's one thing about jobs - a person can always quit."

"Fifty dollars, every week?" Benj asked.

"Every week."

"We can't flash it around," Ymir told Benj. "We just have to keep it."

Benj nodded at The Zombie. "Okay," he said.

"I'll do it, too," said Ymir.

__________

**2007 ELBOW LAKE**

Over the next three years, Kenny's mini-army of lookouts grew to five kids. Ymir and Benj were the oldest. The smallest was Benj's middle brother, Lyle.

As expected, it was college kids at their summer cottages that first attempted to sneak into the dispensary. These were frightened off sufficiently, and no second attempts were made.

Two roughnecks from out West were caught smuggling oxycontin and fentanyl onto the Reservation; due to the small eyes and ears, Kenny was able to tip off the RCMP.

When Ymir and Benj were seventeen, the trucks began to come, usually just before dawn.

They were branded as septic company vehicles, but, to little Lyle Smoke, they didn't look right.

He'd scampered through the woods, from the Reservation Road to Kenny's compound. He'd squeezed in through the chained gate, and found Kenny.

"Trucks," he'd told Kenny Ackerman. "Full of dirt. Bright orange dirt. And it smells. They're dumping it in the woods."

Kenny looked down at his little lieutenant. "Who is?" he asked.

"I dunno. A fat guy. And another guy. The license plate is WEX 6042."

"Good," said Kenny. He frowned. Last year, it had been another septic truck, that time a small tanker that had pumped green bilge into the Wapassing River.

__________

"We're done," he told Ymir and Benj, the summer they had turned eighteen.

Benj Smoke had grown to a height of six-foot-one; a sober young man with a fall of dark hair.

"Done what?" he crossed his arms across his chest, regarding Kenny.

"Done," Kenny repeated. "You two are done."

Ymir frowned. "Done.....fired?"

"Jesus, I can never keep track of who's _Deaf_ around here and who ain't!" Kenny stomped into the dispensary. Incredulous, the two teens stared after him.

Ymir opened the steel door, Benj following, and let it slam behind them.

"What did we do?" she asked Kenny.

Kenny turned to regard them. "You grew up," he said simply. "You're eighteen and you got to choose a college, and go get on with your lives."

"Just like that?" Ymir yelled.

"Look," Kenny jabbed a finger at each of them, "You don't want to be professional road-watchers, do you? Jesus Christ, for a bright girl you're thick as fuckin' tar. You go make something of yourselves."

Benj Smoke leaned on the counter beside Kenny. "I didn't want you here, at first," he said. "You're sneaky. You're unpredictable. But you've helped alot of people. Nobody crosses you. You've taught me a lot."

"Jackass," was Ymir's only contribution.

__________

She'd taken one final watch. Drifting quietly along the ridge, she'd had time to reflect. Kenny Ackerman was right, of course. She'd been accepted to the Ontario Police College, in Aylmer. Benj was going to study forensics, at U. of T. It was time for them to part ways with Kenny. For now, at least.

She crossed a rise, finding herself looking down on Tack Bay. She stopped short. At the end of Tack Bay Road, was a steel dump truck. In the predawn grey, Ymir could see the bed begin to raise. A shower of orangey earth began to spill out of the truck, and into Tack Bay.

In the moment, and feeling the authority of adulthood, Ymir had chosen to ignore the one caution that Kenny had always insisted upon, and strode down to confront the driver.

"Hey!" she'd shouted, striding toward the truck, "You can't dump here!"

__________

Kenny had followed Ymir up the ridge, the night of her last watch. Despite having a skin thicker than rhino hide, it somehow pricked him that her only parting shot to him had been to call him a jackass.

He'd wanted to have a word. Ymir Crow was special. She had the same melancholy as Lin; restless, and bright.

He'd brought along his rifle, having heard the rumble and grind of vehicles that had no business on the Reservation.

He spotted Ymir, below the ridge and striding toward a truck driver, who was dumping a load of acid-tinged dirt into Tack Bay.

"Aw, shit!" he growled. "Shit, Ymir.....shit!" He scooted to the edge of the ridge, holding the weapon up and peering through the scope to get a closer look.

"Hey!" he could hear her, faint and defiant. "You can't dump here!"

The driver had turned slowly; his profile and then his face becoming visible through Kenny's scope.

His breath caught as his throat filled with bile. The man had the unmistakeable underbite, fleshy features and porcine eyes.

_It was Archie Staynes._

"Fuck!" Kenny hissed. He looked around. Then, peered back through his scope.

Ymir approached, stepping over a couple of shovels and faced the driver of the truck.

She gestured animatedly at the vehicle.

Archie Staynes turned his back on her, dismissively.

Ymir jumped on his back.

He flailed, shaking her loose, and punching her in the face. She spun, hitting the beach, hard.

Archie landed a kick. Then, he reached down, grabbing the front of the girl's shirt, and ripping it open.

Ymir rolled, raising a foot and catching Archie in the groin. He buckled. She rolled, coming up with one of the steel shovels.

She raised it over her head.

Kenny Ackerman closed one eye and squeezed the trigger. The first shot hit the shovel, with a zip-ping which startled Ymir.

She dropped the shovel.

The second shot hit Archie Staynes in the shoulder. He staggered backward, gripping his arm.

Ymir yelled something, pointing up the ridge. She sank to her knees.

Archie Staynes scrambled into the truck, threw it in reverse, and drove back up the road, trailing toxic soil in his wake.

It felt as thought it took Kenny Ackerman hours to scramble down off of the ridge and reach Ymir.

She sat on the grass, holding the steel shovel, gazing vacantly at the dent the bullet had left in it.

He dropped to the grass in front of her, taking in her expression of pain and rage; the scratched, freckled skin, the tattered shirt and small teen bra beneath.

He shrugged out of his pullover, wrapping her in it.

They knelt, wordless, shaking.

She spoke first. "I had it," she croaked. "I would've..."

"You would've killed him," Kenny finished. "You would've stove in his head, and then no Police College for you."

She looked up at him, brown eyes tearing.

He swallowed. "You got three choices, now," he told her. "We go to the detachment and talk to Nile Dok. Or, two, we go to the RCMP in Church River..." he paused, ..."or three...I settle it."

"You," she said, her voice flat and final. "You settle it."

Slowly, she rose. From the short, violent encounter, something within her had died, and something else had been born, taking it's place.

"I had it," she repeated again.

__________

Archie Staynes was found by the Ontario Provincial Police, in the restroom of a gas station on Highway 7. He'd sustained a flesh would to his left bicep, and it appeared that he'd stopped to bandage the wound.

He'd been attacked while in the restroom, bound and gagged. His workpants had been ripped open, and his testicles had been severed from his body with precision, and left in the restroom sink.

__________

**2017 ELBOW LAKE**

"You remember the trucks," Ymir took a slow sip of coffee.

"Yeah," Benj answered. "I saw one. Lyle saw one. And you did too, right?"

"Yes," she said softly. "The guy we picked up at Kenny's....Armin. His company is here to find toxins, and poison. We're going to tell him about what they dumped in Tack Bay."

"Good," Benj nodded.

Ymir rose. "See you."

She drove up the Reservation Road, turning into the dispensary.

Two of Kenny's drivers were there, picking up plastic bins to take to Norold, and Lindsay. They nodded to her, and left.

Kenny Ackerman, his hair and beard shot through with silver, leaned on the counter.

"Hi," he said quietly.

She didn't reply.

"Sorry I lost my nut yesterday," he drawled. "When I see a ninety-eight-pound kid huffing away on hallucinogenic pot, I get a little crusty."

"What're you going to do?" she asked him.

"Well. I've got a couple cards close to my chest now, don't I? License plate numbers. Photos. Names. One name, in particular. Law enforcement and lawyers might take quite an interest, in what I know."

Ymir leaned on the counter beside Kenny.

"Call me good or call me bad," he continued, "I guess I've been keeping some details to myself...just in case I ever needed a get out of jail free card. I'll cough up what I know, but I want some guarantees in return."

"Are you going to tell the lawyers what happened to me?"

"Nope."

"Tell them," she said. "Tell them everything. Tell them I'd have bashed his fucking head in."

"But you didn't."

"I might still have to answer for withholding the facts of that incident, but I don't care. People died because we didn't share what we knew, about the dumping."

"No, I told them about the dumpsites," Kenny said. "I told them about the poison. What I kept to myself...was the names and details."

He moved his had, so that it touched hers. It was the closest thing to comfort that she'd accept. "I never had kids of my own...but..."

She looked up at him, a smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "I know," she said.

 


	13. Unspoken

Levi turned off the truck's ignition. He'd driven back up to Elbow Lake to fetch Armin after the deposition, and they'd made the return trip to Churchfarm, in silence. They sat in the driveway, in the grey predawn light.

 _Do you need help?_ Levi signed, at length.

 _With packing?_ Armin's response was distracted. _No. No, thanks. I'll be heading out by noon._

"I need to go help Farlan now," Levi's voice was coarse. "What do you want for lunch?"

 _I don't know._ Armin shrugged indifferently. He didn't look at Levi. He gazed through the dusty windshield, his thoughts miles away.

Levi got out of the truck and strode in the direction of the dairy parlour. The cows plodded toward the intake, lowing and heavy with milk.

__________

**SUMMER 1999 TORONTO**

Ansel Arlert studied the acetate overlays spread out on the dining room table of the apartment that he shared with Maryann and their small son, Armin.

"One day," he'd told Rico Brzenska in the eighties, "all of these overlays will be computerized."

She'd snorted at the founder of Greenspace. "Sure, Ansel."

"Computerized. On cordless computers!"

"Yeah. Cordless..."

"Look at cellular phones," he pointed out.

"They're a fad," Rico had flapped a gloved hand at Ansel. "for bored rich people."

The corner of Ansel's mouth had quirked.

"Go get your tin foil hat," Rico had offered as a parting shot, "you don't want to miss the mothership when it comes for you."

Ansel, much to the annoyance of Maryann, had sunk a fair chunk of Greenspace's liquid capital into a rogue computer company out of Cupertino, California, called Apple.

He had a new Mac powerbook sitting on the table. "Feel how light this is," he'd told her excitedly.

He was entering data into the laptop, when he caught sight of Maryann out of the corner of his eye.

She disappeared into the bathroom, returning with the steel barber scissors and the shaver. She extracted a towel from the linen closet, throwing it over one shoulder. Then, she took Armin's Tigger booster seat and placed it onto one of the kitchen chairs.

She pressed a button on the wall; it was a buzzer, and it made a sound like a cricket chirping.

"What?" Armin hollered down the hallway impatiently, engrossed in something in his bedroom. "Daddy, what does mum want?"

Ansel took a sip of his coffee. He ignored Armin; he wasn't going to be complicit.

With a little grunt, Armin ambled down the hall, catching sight of his mother in the kitchen.

 _Come here,_ she signed.

Armin swallowed.

Ansel ignored his son, bending his head to the large, acetate overlays on his desk.

Moments later, a plaintive wail was heard from the kitchen. "Mum, nooooo! _No!"_

Maryann must have signed something to Armin.

"I don't _care!"_ Armin's voice rose in pitch.

"Sit," Maryann didn't speak often. When she did, her voice was rich, and deeper than one would have expected from a diminutive blonde.

The sobs began. "Mum, No! No! _Noooo!._.."

Ansel grinned. Armin could sob with the best of them. Soggy and heart-wrenching.

The phone rang then. Ansel took the call. It was Hanje. The call occupied him for fifteen minutes or so.

He hung up the phone to see Armin glide sullenly into the living room. His small face was tear-streaked; lashes clumping forlornly.

Without a word, he climbed into Ansel's lap.

Maryann, slightly dishevelled, stood in the kitchen doorway. She appraised her husband and son.

 _He won't let me cut his hair_ , she signed with annoyed precision, _because you won't cut your hair!_

Ansel's glossy, chestnut mane was bound into a queue that trailed down the back of his _Max Webster_ t-shirt.

He faced Maryann and enunciated, "But you like my hair, babe."

 _Don't babe me. He's only six. It's hard to keep tidy, and_...she wasn't sure Ansel would understand the sign fully, so she spoke: "...he gets teased. He's blond and pretty."

Ansel squeezed the little boy on his lap. "Of course he's pretty," he said easily. "he's your son."

Armin leaned back against the solidity of Ansel's chest and glared at Maryann.

 _So defiant,_ she thought. _Good. You're strong._

"Armin," she said a tad sharply, so that both of her boys would understand, "You can grow it down to here, only!" she touched a finger to her shoulder. "No longer. It's too hard to untangle." She jabbed the scissors warningly at the pair.

 _Ok, mum_ Armin's small fingers signed, and he sagged against his dad.

Throwing up her hands, Maryann retreated into the kitchen.

Ansel dropped his face onto the top of the child's golden head, inhaling the sweetness.

"You want to keep your hair, Samson?" he said softly.

"Armin," Armin corrected him.

"Would you like to help me?" Ansel shifted the child to one side, pulling one of the overlays closer. "Will you count for me?"

Armin nodded.

"Okay. Each one of these little squares, is somebody's house. How many houses on this page?"

Armin sat up, bending over the print. He began whispering to himself, eyes scanning. A moment later, he told Ansel, "Sixty-seven, Daddy."

"Good," Ansel said. He lifted a clear film, onto which red dots had been applied. He laid it over the plotted neighbourhood.

"Okay, Armin, how many of the houses have a red dot on them now?"

The blue eyes flicked, like scanners. "Forty-one....no. Forty-two..."

Ansel removed the red-dot overlay. He replaced it with a second, this time spattered with green dots. "Now, how many of the houses have green dots on them?"

Armin leaned over, sticking his nose into Ansel's coffee cup.

"No," Ansel moved it. "It's got caffeine in it."

"I know," Armin said slyly. "Seventeen houses, Daddy."

Ansel removed both overlays, and handed Armin a pencil. "Great job," he praised Armin. "Now, can you circle for Daddy, all of the houses that had both a red dot _and_ a green dot?"

Armin placed a small hand flat onto the printout, eyes flicking left and right. Then he frowned, the point of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and began to circle. From memory, he identified fourteen houses that had both a red dot, which indicated asbestos, and a green dot, which indicated lead paint.

"There you go," he placed the pencil down. "All done!"

 _Eidetic memory,_ Ansel and Maryann had been told. _It will fade. Although exceptional memory can be retained, with the correct training._

Ansel's strength, as founder of Greenspace, had been in creating relationships, and building teams. He had been charismatic, visionary, and bold.

Armin's natural wheelhouse was in front of the analytics monitor, filtering data, looking for the patterns that would lead the lab toward a solution for each given project.

Armin opened his duffel bag, onto the bed he'd shared with Levi for the past few months. He began stuffing his clothes into the bag. His sweatshirt smelled like gasoline; he'd been helping Farlan to work on his demolition derby car. He found a pair of jeans which now sported a curious green pattern, from leaning against Petra Ral's wet fence. He crawled onto the bed and lay with his face buried in Levi's pillow. He inhaled, body aching. Every fibre of his being wanted to let go of the life he'd known; to stay at Churchfarm and cultivate apples and build stone walls and get carried to bed, wrapped in fierce, strong arms.

It was not to be, however; not until Greenspace had delivered the data that Hartley Bodt needed to prevail in court. Armin's mind drifted to the side-table in Erwin Smith's A-frame house, with it's dusty, abandoned jumble of orange prescription bottles. He thought about Auruo Bossard's crate, a lonely sentry at the edge of his garden. He thought about Faye Hawley and his aunt Viv Peddle, losing their beloved friend Kuchel Church, to a strain of pneumonia. He thought about his friend, Farlan. The week prior, Farlan had coughed into a paper towel, and had been surprised to see ruby red.

"Hey Armin," he'd asked. "Is a mouth-bleed about the same thing as a nose-bleed?"

_No dude. It's not._

Armin's mind had already left Churchfarm; he needed to be at the analytics table in the hangar at Lindsay Airport, with Moblit.

_How many red, dots Armin? Good. Now, how many green? How many sick people, Armin?_

_Nothing else,_ thought Armin, plucking his toothbrush and paste off of the vanity, _Nothing else matters, until this is fixed._

__________

Levi entered the milking parlour, activating the switch gate.

"Truck went to Sunderland Creamery yesterday morning," Gideon Church was sitting at Levi's monitor. Levi sighed. He'd forgotten that Farlan had summoned his dad over from Hawley Acres, in Levi's absence.

"Morning, Gideon," Levi mumbled.

"Farlan couldn't make quota," Gideon said loudly. "So the truck wouldn't pick up. Went to Sunderland instead."

Levi nodded.

"Allied Tractor called to see when you want the new baler dropped off," Gideon continued, "I didn't know what to tell 'em."

"Yeah," Levi nodded.

Gideon sidled over, placing his bulk between Levi and the intake door. "If this is too much for you Levi, all you got to do, is say."

Levi clenched his jaw, heat flushing beneath his collar.

"We found out there's been illegal dumping at Elbow Lake," Levi said tightly. "Kenny Ackerman had some information, for Greenspace."

"That so?" Gideon crossed his arms, "''Cause I heard your new boy got himself in a bit of bother smoking dope up there."

Levi inhaled; a long, slow breath.

"Gideon," he said calmly, "can I leave the south barn to you? I will go up to the north barn, with Farlan. Truck comes at seven."

Gideon shrugged indifferently, hitching up his work pants under his belly.

With supreme self-control, Levi walked out of the south barn, started up his ATV and roared up the fire road.

__________

"C'mon!" Farlan Church encouraged the cows to amble into the north barn. "C'mon, ladies!" he banged a tin pail against the turnstile.

Levi shut off the ATV's engine and entered the barn.

"Truck's due at seven," he greeted Farlan. Farlan spared him a sideways glance.

 _You look like shit,_ Farlan managed to sign.

"...said the zombie," quipped Levi.

Farlan tried to suppress a grin. "Asshole."

Levi held a hand up, by way of apology. "Sorry. About yesterday."

The cows plodded in through the bottleneck and Farlan and Levi separated, to attend to the milking.

At six-fifty, the dairy truck rumbled up the drive, clipping the gatepost again.

"Aw, for fuck sakes!" Farlan waved his arms angrily at the driver, "Watch your blind spot ya fuckin' numpty!"

He spat onto the ground, a small, red splash.

After the dairy truck had left, with a full quota, Farlan and Levi turned the cows back out to pasture.

Isabel was in the top field, driving the small backhoe, shifting bales of hay into the hoppers. She turned to face them, and Levi saw little Kuchel strapped to her mother's front, a pair of mufflers on her ears.

"Hah!" Levi barked. "Look at Kiki!"

Farlan toed Levi. Levi turned. "Bel's getting bored," Farlan said. "She's not used to being cooped up all day." He bit his lip, looking down. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

They sat on the hood of Farlan's derby car.

Farlan faced Levi. He rubbed his hands nervously on his overalls.

"Levi, a few years ago I was afraid for you...I really was. I thought you'd gone down a dark hole and you'd never get back out again."

Levi nodded.

"But then, you remember last Christmas? We borrowed the cutter from Boyd Ral and gave everyone rides in the snow? You were laughing when Mike fell off? We had such a good time."

"Yeah," Levi chuckled.

"Well, that's when I thought things had maybe turned a corner...maybe you were gonna be okay, after all. You'd started enjoying things again. And you and me, we're a good team."

"We are," Levi agreed.

"Levi...you're not an easy guy. You're just _not_. Erwin had a lot of patience, with you, and with all of us. We were lucky to have him in our lives. And you...don't slug me for this...but you took Erwin's good nature for granted sometimes."

Levi sucked in a pained breath, and held it. He looked away from Farlan, across the knoll.

Farlan tapped his shoulder gently. "No matter how much of a grumpy cuss you were...or how moody...Erwin just took it all, as it came."

"Yes," Levi admitted softly, "He did."

Farlan sat for some time, feet banging idly against the car's bumper.

"Levi, if you want Armin...for keeps...and you want to make a home together...you got to _tell_ him."

Levi jumped off of the car, and made his way along the sheep pen. Remus looked up, ears twitching.

Levi leaned on the fence. Farlan joined him.

Levi tilted his chin toward Remus. "You remember when we got him?"

Farlan laughed out loud. "Fuck..." he shook his head, "that crazy little cuss...took you two weeks to get him into bridle."

"You know the best thing about being twenty?" Levi asked. "When you're twenty, you know everything. It's such a relief, knowing everything. I wish I was still twenty and I had all the answers. How to write. How to live. How to get whatever I wanted. The older I get...the less I know."

He sighed. "I'm not the same person I was," he explained. "I'm unsure. I second-guess myself. I'm more brittle. I worry more. I look at myself in the mirror and I see a short, tired, confused guy most of the time."

He looked at Farlan, "Armin is bright. And full of life. And beautiful. And a bit odd..."

"He's really funny..."

"And funny. Would he....could he be happy here, with us?"

Farlan regarded the flock of sheep, lips tight. He finally turned back to Levi.

"All I ever wanted," he said, "was to be like you. Since I was little. You're the strongest, of all of us. You hold us together. And...you're _writing_ about us. You're telling our story. A hundred years from now, folk are going to read about Churchfarm. After everything we've lost...we know that time is precious. When something is right, it's right. Armin's lost people, too. He understands that. And, tell you what, I think Armin belongs here. That's all I got to say."

"Anyway," he added, "Stringer Magnolia's coming over this afternoon. Gonna quote us on slide-gates for top field. Like you wanted."

Levi reached over, gathering Farlan into a hug. His young cousin felt bony in his arms.

"Thank you," he said thickly. "I love you."

__________

Moblit Berner was grey and drawn, except for the purple half-moons hanging under his eyes.

"Oh, Moblit," Armin entered the hangar. "you look haggard."

The glow from the analytics table was ethereal, magnified by the banks of monitors, on either side.

"Ah, Armin!" Moblit looked up, "You're here now? For good?"

"For good," Armin nodded. "My field assignment is complete. How's it going here?"

"Church River data is complete. Wapassing is complete. Norold is complete, and Connie will stay on to help with analytics. Mr. Bodt is coming tomorrow, for a briefing,"

Moblit leaned back, scrubbing a hand slowly through his hair. "So we'll have four people here in analytics, two onsite paralegals, two onsite lab liaisons. And Hanje."

"And you?"

Moblit exhaled, "No, not me. I'm going to sleep for a hundred years, now."

"You go," Armin put his bag down with a thump. "I'll jump in."

Moblit stood, flexing his stiff muscles. "Thank you, Armin. Good timing..."

Moblit left the hangar.

Armin bent down, opening up his laptop and signing on to Greenspace's portal. The portal functioned as a hub, linking four chatrooms: paralegal, lab, medical and executive. Each silo could communicate data with other silos, across the portal.

 _Good afternoon,_ Armin typed into the hub.

 _You crazy dope smokin' freak!_ Connie Springer private-messaged him. _Good to have you back!_

 _It wasn't like that,_ Armin typed.

_Dude, did u really smoke peyote?_

_NO._

_Lies._ Connie responded.

 _No. I didn't smoke peyote. Okay, I actually don't know if I did. What r u doing rn?_ Armin typed.

_Rockin' my foil suit, playing with rat bodies. Check out my overlay and my report. Interesting shit. I submitted it to the portal._

_K._

Armin sat at the table monitor, pulled out his noise-cancelling headphones, and put them on, the bustle around him silenced.

He touched the monitor, and the overlays began to cycle: water quality, soil quality, known dumpsites, new build transactions. Chronic illnesses. Coloured dots, flashing, mingling.

Armin cycled and recombined the data, his breath slowing, losing himself in the patterns.

Occasionally he stopped, posting a question or offering an observation in one of the chatrooms.

Around dinner time, his phone buzzed.

Emerging from his trance, Armin squinted at the display.

Levi.

_I guess you're gone, then._

Armin swallowed, his chest thick with remorse.

_I'm so sorry....I had to leave, to get to the hangar at one sharp...I can't fuck up at work anymore...you were still in top field...I left you a note._

_I have something to tell you..._ Levi responded.

__________

Stringer Magnolia had shown up at Rollie Stroud's machine shop, seven years prior.

Rollie, wearing a yellow rubber raincoat although it was a clear day, had looked up at Stringer.

"Morning friend," he'd said amiably. He hadn't paid much attention to Stringer's hump-backed posture. "What can I do for you?"

"Name's Magnolia," Stringer had replied. "I wonder if you're looking for a millwright?"

"Sorry," Rollie Stroud had said. It had been the answer Stringer was expecting. Once machine shops saw his deformity, they usually sent him packing. He began to turn away.

"You'll have to face me and speak up," Rollie clarified, "I'm mostly deaf, you see."

"Oh!" the man had crossed the shop floor. "I'm Magnolia. Folk call me Stringer. I'm a millwright. I can weld, too."

"Huh," Rollie Stroud had nodded. "You new in town?"

Stringer had nodded. "Yep. Me and my girl. Got one girl, Isabel. Sixteen. She's started over at the high school in Church River."

"Missus?"

"No missus. Just me. I adopted Bel on my own. I guess I'm a single dad, you could say."

"Where you's from?"

"Biloxi."

"Eh?"

"Biloxi," Stringer had repeated loudly, "Mississippi!"

"You think you can weld these joins clean?" Rollie Stroud had asked him.

Stringer looked at the project on Rollie's workbench and nodded. "No trouble."

For some years afterward, townsfolk would say, "You got an engine problem, it's Rollie Stroud you want. Mind you, anything needs fitting, then you want the other fella. Hunchbacked fella. Stringer."

__________

From her perch in the backhoe, Isabel saw her father's car coming up Churchfarm's driveway.

"Huh," she mused, "He's early..."

She shut off the backhoe and climbed down carefully. She rummaged in the snuggly she wore, popping Kuchel's sunhat onto her head.

She walked across the field, meeting her dad as he got out of his car.

"Daddy?" she frowned. Something was wrong.

Stringer regarded his daughter and grandchild. "Hiya Bel," he said sadly.

"Daddy, what's happened?"

__________

Around lunchtime, Levi had gone up to the big house, and into the master bedroom. He'd spent most of the spring and summer sharing the chapel bed with Armin, and he'd almost forgotten that he actually had a bedroom in the big house. He'd scrubbed his face and combed his hair. He'd put on a clean shirt, so as not to smell of cows.

Then, he'd carefully extracted a small box from his dresser drawer and a notebook along with it.

Heart hammering, he'd made his way down to the chapel, to find Armin.

What he'd found instead was a note. It read:

_Levi....I'm so very sorry...but I've had to go. I have to be at the Hanger at one. I'll catch up with you on the weekend. Thanks again....for everything. xo A._

_Thanks again,_ Levi read, _for everything._ Was that a goodbye?

His heart sank. He looked around the chapel, which Armin had left clean and orderly.

 _Armin had gone,_ he reminded himself, _to continue his work...to try and find out what had happened to Erwin, to Auruo. To his mom._

Armin had gone. It hurt.

Slowly, as if moving through molasses, Levi opened the little box he carried, and placed it alongside Armin's note. It held a simple silver ring. Beside this, he placed the notebook - a treasure he was ready to give to Armin. _"Notes on the Orchard,"_ was written at the top of the first page, in a strong, flowing hand, _"by Erwin Smith"._

 _I will leave these here,_ Levi thought, his throat closing sharply, _in case he comes back._

He stepped out into the bright afternoon light. Frowned. Isabel, her dad Stringer, and Farlan were standing in the driveway.

Something wasn't right.

He jogged up the path from the chapel, striding across the gravel.

"Stringer?" he approached them. Isabel turned, eyes bright with tears.

"Levi," Farlan said, "Rollie Stroud died. He had a stroke this morning..."

__________

In the blue-lit darkness of the hangar, Armin re-read Levi's message.

After a moment he pecked:  _What's up? You ok?_

The cursor blinked.

_Rollie Stroud died today._

Armin swallowed. He looked up. A few techs remained in the hangar, their backs to him. He stared at the sad little note.

_Oh no...I'm so sorry...do u want me to come back?_

_The funeral is on Saturday,_ Levi replied.

 _Okay,_ Armin typed. _I'd better call Viv and Reynaud._

The cursor blinked. Stopped. Blinked again. Finally: _Talk to you later._

____________

Levi sat alone, in the darkened chapel. He put down the phone. There were simply some things that needed to be conveyed face to face. He picked up the silver ring, turning it in his fingers. 

A deep melancholy washed over him. "Please," he whispered, "home is not home, without you..."

 

 

 


	14. Graceland

**_Stroud, Roland Ellis_ **

_Feb. 25, 1943 - Jul. 24, 2016_

 

_Roland "Rollie" Stroud, beloved husband of Alma (née Stewart)._

_Brother of Dougall (Norold, ON), Carlysle (Toronto, ON) and Mary (Glasgow, UK)._

 

_Services at Knox Presbyterian Church_

_Church River, ON_

_Saturday, July 30th_

_11:00 a.m._

 

_Luncheon to follow at the Royal Canadian Legion Hall_

_225 Brock Street_

_Church River, ON_

 

_Friends and family are invited to the call at the Stroud Farm_

_following the luncheon._

 

GLASGOW RANGERS FOREVER.

 

Petra Bossard managed a small smile as she tacked the photocopied notice to the library bulletin board.

_Glasgow Rangers Forever._

"Are you sure, Mrs. Stroud?" Bert Hoover would have gone red in the face. "Are you sure you don't want that perhaps somewhere else...maybe on a memory board?"

"No," Alma Stroud would have said with finality. "Put it in his notice. At the bottom. _Glasgow Rangers Forever._ It's what he wanted."

Petra grinned, imagining the young funeral director, trying his best to appear solicitous in the face of a band of adamant Scots.

She ran a hand over the notice.

"Meat pies," a familiar husky voice behind her.

She turned. Levi.

"At least the Legion has nice meat pies," Levi reasoned, "with peas and chips."

"Hey," she greeted him somberly.

"Meat pies are good. I can't manage those poxy little egg-salad sandwich triangles" Levi said, signing as well. "Nothing screams 'funeral' like those tired little sandwiches. Sullen, stinky little sandwiches."

"Have you been writing recently?" Petra asked, walking back toward the intake desk.

"Why?"

"Sullen, stinky little sandwiches?"

_I've made a start on something_ , he signed.

"Oh?"

_Enough that I've sent some pages to Signal Hill. They've asked for a few more._

Petra nodded in satisfaction. _Good,_ she signed.

_Why take out Rollie?_ Levi signed, as if the old machinist's death had been the work of a sniper.

Petra shrugged.

__________

Saturday morning dawned; the sky an indeterminate, grey haze.

Farlan woke early, his chest full of muck. He rose stiffly, padding into the bathroom and regarding his bony visage in the mirror.

"Jesus," he told his reflection. He coughed, spitting into the sink. He ran the water, clearing the mucous. "Not red," he remarked, with some relief.

He sat on the edge of the tub, turning on the shower. Steam began to fill the room. He flexed his fingers, his shoulders. Inhaled, drawing a weak, gluey breath.

The hot steam began to loosen the thickness in his chest. He shut his eyes.

Farlan showered, and dressed himself in the pants and shirt that Isabel had laid out for him.

He made his way out to the kitchen. Isabel had the phone jammed in one ear and Kuchel's bottle in her other hand.

"No," she said into the phone. "We can't go in the truck, Daddy. Come in and I'll drive..."

"Da-da-da-da," Kuchel's feet thumped happily against the legs of her high-chair.

"You look pretty," Farlan nodded.

"Huh?" Isabel blinked.

"That's a pretty dress."

She smiled.

"Is your dad okay?"

"No," Isabel sighed. "He's sitting in his truck crying."

"Well, tell him to c'mon over," Farlan eased himself into a chair, taking the bottle from Isabel and feeding it to Kuchel, who smacked her lips happily.

"He's here," Isabel said in exasperation. "He's in the driveway."

Farlan looked up.

"Stay with Kiki," Isabel said, yanking on her rubber boots. "I'll go out."

She plodded through the yard, to where Stringer Magnolia sat, in Rollie's shop truck. Her throat ached.

She opened the passenger door, and sat inside.

"Daddy," she said softly, "Daddy, where's your tie?"

Stringer reached over, taking his daughter's hand. He opened his mouth to say something and shut it, sniffling loudly.

"You're a pallbearer," Isabel said gently. "You got to pull yourself together a little bit, you know?"

Stringer smiled, two tears breaking the crest of his cheeks, to melt into his red beard.

"I told you," he wiped his nose on a McDonald's napkin, "I picked you because you had red hair, just like mine."

"I know that."

"Only, that wasn't my reason. Not really. My first visit to child services, we toured the foster home. You were just a little thing. No more than five. You came straight up to me, and tugged on my hand..."

Isabel turned to regard him.

"...'Now don't you worry', you said, voice as tiny as a pip. 'Don't you worry. One of us kids is sure to want you'..."

Isabel laughed.

"You had the whole thing backward," Stringer remembered fondly, "You thought each kid got to adopt a parent."

"I did not!"

"You did." Stringer burst into tears. "Rollie was my best friend in this world..."

"Then you put your tie on and smarten up," she placed a steadying hand onto her father's shoulder. "I'll drive."

__________

It caused some confusion to those that didn't know the Hoovers well. _Big Bert_ was Bertholt Hoover Senior; director of the funeral home in Church River. _Little Bert_ was his son; a shy, towering young man of twenty-three. He'd been _Little Bert_ all through high school, and when he'd pitched Triple A baseball. Upon joining his father as a director in the family business and donning the morning coat, he'd simply been renamed, 'Lurch'.

The late Rollie Stroud was the first client that Little Bert was managing entirely on his own, without assistance from his father. And it had been no easy matter.

He'd not been sure what to do with Mrs. Alma Stroud. Rather than being a black-shrouded, weeping mess, the widow had turned up at Hoover's Funeral Home with a clipboard and a tidy blue handbag that had a gold clasp which snapped crisply when she shut it.

"Mrs. Stroud," Bert had extended his hand to her, not moving too quickly, trying to embody discretion and respect. "you have our profound condolences."

"Thank you dear," Alma Stroud had sat in the chair, facing Bert across the expanse of polished mahogany.

Bert fanned out a selection of pamphlets in front of Alma Stroud, her daughter Mary, and brother-in-law, Dougall.

"Never mind, dear," Alma pushed them back gently, "Rollie wants the Memphis casket."

"The..." Bert swallowed. "Well," he said carefully, "perhaps you'd like to see something in a cherry finish, or...?"

"Memphis," Alma inclined her head, "the one with Elvis on the lid."

Bert took a deep breath. "I see," he nodded. "there is a floral arrangement that...compliments that casket nicely. It's called Graceland. It has forget-me-nots, white roses and blue hydrangeas..."

"That sounds lovely, Bert. Blue for Rangers..."

Bert smiled. "Excellent choice," he said smoothly.

__________

Bert Hoover found himself wide awake at five, the Saturday morning of the funeral. After tossing miserably for an hour, he got himself up, threw on his sweatshirt and went for a run.

He found himself at the Funeral Home, dressed, pressed and ready, two hours before the scheduled time.

He reviewed the day's itinerary. He went over the e-mails he'd exchanged with the Minister; with Gideon Church, who was due to perform a solo for his dearly departed friend; with the bagpiper, who would pipe Rollie Stroud into the church; with the ladies from the Legion Hall, who were putting in the meat-pie luncheon. Bert had even remembered to order a tray of turnip-and-leek pies, for the vegetarians. Everything seemed in order.

Until it wasn't.

Bert met with the pallbearers in a small reception room, inside of the church. Here, he'd planned to give instructions, as to the safe and dignified transport of Rollie Stroud down the aisle, inside of his Elvis casket. He hadn't consulted Alma regarding the selection of pallbearers, assuming that assorted Stroud nephews and cousins would do the job. He now saw this was a glaring oversight.

Inside of the reception room, he found Stringer Magnolia, Rollie's dear friend, with his hunched back. There was also Levi Ackerman, who was five-foot-three on his best day, standing beside Mike Zacharius, who towered over him at six-foot five. Standing by the window was Royal Puckett, who had lost one arm in a baler accident, and Vivian Peddle, Rollie's goddaughter.

"Oh," said Bert.

Beneath his somber jacket, sweat sprang to the surface of his skin. He pulled out his pocket square and swiped at his forehead, heart hammering. This assortment of individuals was very unlikely to be able to hoist the casket evenly, and make it down the aisle of Knox Presbyterian Church.

"Oh," Bert repeated.

"So you can count," Levi Ackerman said dryly. "We're down one pallbearer. Gary Stroud took a fish hook in the cheek. His face swelled up like a balloon."

Bert nodded. "I see," he enunciated to the deaf dairy farmer. "Thank you, Levi. Give me a moment."

"Shit," Bert whimpered, loping down the hall, toward the door leading into the church proper. "Shit, shit, shit..."

He peered into the church, at the assembly. There were a great many people, from Church River, Norold, and as far away as Glasgow, Scotland.

He scanned the pews for Alma, then remembered that she'd be arriving in the hearse, with her late husband.

Ah, there. Rollie's brother, Dougall.

Bert straightened his coat, stood tall and glided into the church.

"Mr. Stroud," he approached Dougall, "Might I have a word?"

"Eh?" Dougall looked up from the paper service programme. "What's wrong, Bert?"

Bert exhaled slowly.

"Well," Bert said in a gentle, measured tone, "Sadly, your nephew Gary is unwell, and can't be a pallbearer for Rollie today. So....I was wondering if the family...if you...have an alternate in mind. Or...four. Four."

"For what?"

"Four, as in the number four...three or four...alternate pallbearers? Some suggestions would..."

"So," Dougall's eyes twinkled, reminding Bert of Rollie. "Ye've got a hunchback, an amputee, a deaf runt, a giant, and a girl."

"Mr. Stroud!" Bert was aghast, "I would never..."

Dougall Stroud threw his head back and laughed, slapping his knee. "Aye, you should see your face, Bert."

"I assure you..."

"Bert. Lad. Those folk were my brother's very best friends in this world. Lorne and Viv Peddle are like family. Rollie worked on every single one of their tractor-pull winners. And Rollie served in the navy with Mike's dad, Mikhail Zacharius. Did you know that? I've know you since you were five years old, Bert. You're a bright lad. Figure it out."

"I will," Bert inclined his head. He glided back through the door, hearing Dougall's burr in his head: _Yer a brright lad, Burrt._

"Fuck," Bert sighed. It was twenty minutes to eleven.

He thought of the support bench, upon which a casket would rest during a service. If only the casket bench had wheels. If only...

Bert stopped abruptly then. He tore open the Church door and ran across Brock street, to the Legion. He bounded up the stairs, and into the hall.

Ah, there! The stainless steel, wheeled kitchen trolley.

"Pearl," he gasped, "Pearl, please! I need the kitchen trolley!"

"What on earth?" Pearl Hawley peered up at the tall young man, who was beet-red and sweating.

"Please," Bert begged, "Please. And I need the skirt from the cake table."

"The cake table?" Pearl tutted, frowning.

"Please! Can you send one of the girls over to Kirschstein's for an extra table cloth?"

On his way back across Brock Street, Bert Hoover was nearly struck by a Greenspace SUV, it's small blond driver startled by the sight of the young undertaker, loping like a panicked penguin across the intersection.

__________

_I don't see what the hold-up is,_ Viv Peddle signed with Levi as they sat in the reception room. _Rollie was so well loved, we can't be short of a stand-in? Why don't they just get my Rey?_

_Bert's stewing in his suit about something_ , Levi replied. And then: _Viv, is Armin here?_

_Of course,_ she gestured, _haven't you spoken to him today? He's here, His mums are here. They're sitting with Rey. And that little Connie. Sasha's brought him._

_We haven't connected. Not for about a week or so. He's in Lindsay, working in analytics and I haven't wanted to bother him._

Viv looked appraisingly at Levi. _Have you had a falling-out?_

_No,_ Levi's fine features were pinched. _No. I don't know._

__________

Levi found bagpipe music to be an enigma. He could feel the buzzing in his jaw, and in the soles of his feet. The air seemed to throb. And the faces of those listening would change, their features rearranging into a tableau of nostalgia, of melancholy.

The congregation rose as the strains of the bagpipe began to fill the church.

The piper proceeded down the aisle. He was followed by Rollie Stroud's Elvis casket, set on a wheeled trolley, the sides of which were covered with a crisp, white table skirt. The pallbearers gripped the casket's brass rails, at waist-height, as the conveyance rolled down the aisle. Levi and Viv were first, behind them Royal Puckett and Stringer Magnolia, and last Mike Zacharius and Bert Hoover himself, arranged in a neat incline.

The low height of the casket had made it possible for Bert to light the hurricane lamp in the middle of the casket spray, and the angelic light illuminated Elvis' face.

"Oh," Alma Stroud had smiled through her tears, "How lovely. How very lovely."

_________

Levi sat in the second pew, with the other pallbearers. He chanced a look behind, but could not see Armin.

The service began.

After the opening prayers, Gideon Church offered up a robust, if slightly off-key rendition of _The Lord Is My Shepherd_.

Dougall Stroud stood at the pulpit afterward, and began the eulogy.

He spoke at length about his brother, finally referring to a note in front of him.

"This place, like no place before it, was Rollie's home," Dougall said. "I have a passage I'd like to read. It's a passage by Churchill Smith, from the novel, _'Rain on Roots'._

He looked at the pallbearers' bench.

"Sorry for the bother Levi, I know you don't like a fuss. But you need to know how puffed up Rollie was, to be part of the world that you wrote about. He knew that the character of Roy was based on him, and he'd tell this fact to anybody that cared to listen."

Levi nodded his head.

"Come on up here, Levi, if you don't mind. Can you sign for us while I read?"

This, finally, produced a snort from Levi. He rose, joining Dougall at the lectern.

Dougall read:

_They stood in Lee's top field, Lee and Roy._

_Relax, Roy signed._

_Lee glowered at the older man. 'I don't trust it.'_

_At the far end of the paddock, a young donkey watched the two men warily._

_'I know,' Roy nodded his head. '_ _Breathe. Let it go. Whatever it is, let it all go. Put it all down, it's too heavy anyway. All you got is right now. He don't want to hurt you, he wants to trust you.'_

_The donkey trotted forward and stopped. Pricked his long ears._

_'Hold out your hand,' Roy instructed. 'The moment you stop fighting everything and everyone, this land will open up for you, Lee. He's not angry. The cows aren't angry. The sheep aren't angry. Only you are angry. There's no place on a farm for anger; let it go. See and feel this land, for what it is._

_Lee was incredulous when the new donkey's muzzle touched his hand._

_'Don't flinch, now._ _There.' Roy encouraged, 'You do this tomorrow, and the day after that. Be in the moment. Don't miss out on your own life, Lee. Don't take this land for granted."_

Levi looked up then, at the silent congregation; at the nodding heads of the farm folk, that commiserated with his uncertainty and his struggle.

It was then that he saw Armin, sitting with Reynaud Joice. His pale face was drawn, eyes bright with tears.

_Armin._

He nodded to Dougall, stepping down and taking his seat, heart aching and full.

__________

Levi and Farlan stood in the cemetery, beneath the shelter of a hundred-year-old locust tree. Townsfolk milled around in the cemetery, and in front of the church's arched stone portal, talking in small groups and making their way over to the Legion for lunch.

Some distance from Levi and Farlan, Vivian Peddle and Faye Hawley stood in front of Kuchel Ackerman's small angel headstone, sharing a pair of earbuds, listening to Bruce Springsteen and hugging.

Farlan shook his head. He nudged Levi. "I don't want any part of that," he declared.

Levi chuckled. "Me neither. They're doing that girlfriends thing they do."

"Ugh," said Farlan.

"I forgot Rollie was there the day you broke Remus in," Farlan said referring to the passage Dougall had read.

"Yup. It was a beautiful moment. He left out the part where I pissed my pants."

"Fair enough."

Farlan pushed off, clapped a hand on Levi's shoulder and sauntered toward Isabel, who was juggling her father, her baby and a folding stroller.

Levi turned his head. Armin watched him, from a few feet away.

He managed Levi's name sign, his hands shaking.

"Come here," Levi said huskily. "Come here, you..."

He opened his arms, embracing and pulling Armin close.

Armin lay his head on Levi's shoulder. He was so bone-tired that he was dizzy. He shut his eyes, inhaling Levi's warmth until he began to relax.

An intermittent rain was beginning to fall, spattering through the foliage of the locust tree.

Levi placed a hand onto Armin's head, cradling it against his shoulder. "It's ok," he whispered.

Armin felt light in his arms; boneless and drained. Levi tightened his embrace.

Petra came out of the church, looking around, probably for Levi. Not seeing him, she skittered along the sidewalk toward the Legion.

Armin raised his head finally, looking into Levi's eyes.

Levi kissed Armin's forehead, lips ghosting over the closed eyelids.

"I'm sorry," Armin said. "I just left."

Levi swallowed.

He pulled Armin with him around to the far side of the big tree. Taking the sweet face between his hands, he bent his head, brushing his lips softly against Armin's.

"Armin," The sound was a scrape, painful to hear. "Armin..."

__________

Everything hurt; the small yellow ducklings, the sweet tang from the smoker. The bump in the driveway, the donkey in the top field.

Armin's heart tightened as he sat in Levi's truck, snuggling close as Levi drove home to Churchfarm instead of to the meat pie luncheon at the Legion.

Armin returned to Churchfarm with an unbearable sense of homesickness, of his world shifting, of confusion. To live there with Levi, to tend to the orchard, to be close to his relatives would mean abandoning everything that his dad had built, and it tore him to bits.

He lay on Levi's bed, in the big house, limbs tangled with Levi's. The house was silent, the rain drumming on the aluminium roof of the side porch.

Levi plied Armin with kisses; soft, probing, sweet kisses, moist as the plums which had come into season.

They shifted on the bed, Armin's legs parting to allow the press of Levi's groin against his own. Their dress pants rustled crisply, funeral clothing claustrophobic and arousing at the same time.

Levi's cheek was smooth, clean-shaven, his aftershave bearing a hint of citrus. He wore his iWatch, and onyx cufflinks that had been his grandfather's. His white shirt was starched, and rather than a tie, he wore a navy cravat. His hair fell forward into his eyes as he bent his head to nuzzle Armin's neck.

Time swam before Armin's eyes; he remembered his first encounter with Levi, who'd resented Armin stepping into his silent world without permission. The first rasp of Levi's voice, in a dark parking lot. The afternoon in the orchard when Levi had declared that Armin had touched not only his life, but his heart.

He thought of Farlan, pestering him to reset the modem and router in the barn; of Isabel, watching _youtube_ videos of the new baler and shushing Farlan so she could learn. He thought of the teacups on the sideboard and the software in the south barn.

When he thought of the orchard, it's apples dropping uneaten to the ground, he began to cry; hot tears that ran along the side of his face and into his ears.

Something ached; he recognized a mounting tightness in his belly, a fire where Levi leaned over him, stroking his cock through the black dress pants, fingering him expertly as he bulged against the fabric.

"Don't cry," Levi said softly, a futile remark as he himself, wept. "Don't cry baby, feel good..."

He popped the fly on Armin's pants, tugging at his shirt and digging beneath the waistband of Armin's briefs with his tongue. Armin sobbed, both hands fisting into Levi's hair, and lifted his hips off of the bed.

Levi was...his. And he was Levi's. Armin wondered, as Levi sucked his curved shaft into his mouth, how it was that a man as intense and frank as Levi Ackerman, had ever taken any notice of him. 

He scratched at Levi's shoulder, pulling on his hair.

"Ach!" Levi raised his head. "Easy! Gentle."

At the same time, Armin panted, "Harder!"

"Well," Levi snickered through his tears, "I guess we've got ourselves a difference of opinion."

The solution proved to be scooping Armin up, tugging off his dress pants and bending him over the oak dresser in the bedroom. Levi slicked his fingers, pushing and holding them inside of his boy while Armin panted and squirmed, delighting in the burn and in the rough handling, which drove the racing thoughts from his mind.

Levi place a firm hand on the flat of Armin's back, arching it so the rounded bottom was raised.

"Hey," Levi slapped Armin's ass. Armin raised his head, looking into the mirror and catching sight of Levi, mouth slack and grey eyes hooded and burning.

"We said that we're both safe...without protection...yes?"

"Yeah," Armin nodded... _Yes, we are._

Armin closed his eyes, but opened them again, fascinated by Levi's reflection. Levi bit his lip, removed his fingers from Armin's ass and spanked him firmly.

"You said, 'harder'" Levi reminded him.

Armin arched backward eagerly, meeting Levi's hand. The smacks reddened his cheeks, Levi's fingers grazing his balls, making him whimper.

Then, Levi pushed his cock inside of Armin, skin on skin, hot and slick. He grabbed the tender hairs at the nape of Armin's neck, and thrust slowly.

Armin groaned, squirming, watching in the mirror as Levi's fine features suffused with pleasure, lips ruddy and moist. He thrust harder, the sinewy rhythm of his abdomen reflected in the mirror.

Armin gripped the edge of the dresser, yelping as Levi grabbed his hips, pulling him upward and onto his toes, changing the angle of penetration. Armin gasped, one hand slapping flat against the mirror.

"That...feels so good...fuck...so good..."

He lost coherence then, crying out as Levi wrapped his strong fingers around Armin's cock, stroking as his teeth found the nape of Armin's neck.

Armin felt Levi tense, muscles stuttering and then the hot pulse inside of him, pushing him over the edge so that he came, slicking Levi's fist and gasping non-words until the pleasure, the tension and anxiety was bled out of him and he felt Levi pull him onto the bed, where they lay without moving for some time.

Later, Armin and Levi showered outside, soaping one another lazily. Armin looked at his hand; Levi's gift of a silver promise ring gleamed on his finger, hopeful and bright.

_I don't think we're getting any meat pie,_ Armin signed, a tad wistfully. Levi grabbed a handful of pink bottom, and chuckled.

"How much more meat pie you want?" he grinned.

"We should go to the Stroud's. Say goodbye properly."

"Yes, we will," Levi agreed.

"But...just five more minutes." The blue eyes were beseeching.

"Five more minutes," Levi echoed.

 


	15. Legacy

Armin burrowed deeper into the worn flannel sheets and sighed. He slowly opened one eye. Through the shutters that Stringer Magnolia had made to fit the arched chapel windows, he could see slivers of blue and gold. It was late.

He rolled over, finding that he was alone in the bed. He squinted at his phone. Ten in the morning. He dragged it closer to his face, thumbing through the messages.

Moblit Berner would have been at the analytics table since five a.m. Armin would relieve him at three, and probably work through the night.

 _Moblit_ , he tapped, _all ok?_

Moments later, a blue thumbs-up icon appeared. Armin dropped the phone and curled into a ball. He heard a creak on the stairs and decided not to move. Perhaps Levi would crawl back into bed and wrap himself around Armin.

A clink. The warm smell of breakfast.

Despite himself, Armin uncurled and rolled over.

Levi sat cross-legged on the bed, pouring tea.

Armin pulled the covers up to his chin, peeking at Levi through his blond fringe.

He stuck one hand out of the covers, then the other. _Eggs?_ he signed. _You said no eggs in the bed._

 _I said, 'no toast in the bed',_ Levi smirked, head tilted.

Armin watched as Levi lifted his teacup by the rim, taking a small sip.

 _You'd better also have coffee,_ Armin signed.

Levi lifted Armin's blue mug off of the tray. Armin sat up slowly. His head buzzed, and his body ached.

He inspected the tray Levi had brought; two egg cups, sausage rounds, thick farm toast and local strawberries.

He scooted closer to Levi, nuzzling.

 _This is nice,_ he signed. _How come we get to enjoy toast in bed?_

"I've remembered," Levi said hoarsely, "how short life is."

Armin propped two pillows behind his back and took a swallow of coffee. Outside, a black cat walked along the roofline of the chapel, then launched itself neatly onto the outside window sill. It peered inside, curiously.

"Look," Armin motioned.

Levi turned. "He showed up yesterday," Levi commented.

"Well, he must be somebody's."

Levi shook his head and signed: _Nah. He's feral. He also has six toes. He's very friendly._

Armin cracked the shell of his egg. Soft-boiled, the way he liked it. He munched thoughtfully on a corner of his toast.

Levi regarded him.

"What?" Levi reached over, squeezing Armin's thigh through the quilt. "What do you want to say?"

Refusing to relinquish his toast, Armin made a one-handed gesture to indicate hesitation.

 _Continue,_ Levi signed.

Armin swallowed, wiping his fingers on the paper towel he found on the tray.

 _Yesterday, after the funeral_...he began, _my aunt Viv and Faye Hawley stopped to visit your mother's resting place..._

Levi nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yes. They visit her angel, and they play her favourite Bruce Springsteen songs. And hug and cry. And sometimes drink vodka. Farlan and I try to avoid them at all costs."

Armin smiled, then looked down at the covers.

 _Before the service,_ he signed, _Boyd Ral and Petra brought a little wreath, and they put it on Auruo's headstone as well._

Levi took a swallow of tea.

_But...Levi, where...where is Erwin? Is he up in the big house?_

_Up...?_ Levi's expression was bemused. _Why do you ask that? What did you see in the big house?_

Armin bit his lower lip. _An urn. In the library._

Levi picked up a strawberry, pulled off its stem and held it to Armin's lips. "Open..."

Chuckling, Levi signed: _There is an urn in the TV room. That's Cinnamon. Farlan's dog. He loved that dog more than anything in this world._

_That's...that's a dog's urn?_

_A dog's urn, yes._

Armin blinked, considering this.  "I...I just assumed that Erwin was in the TV room. I always tried to be respectful in the TV room..."

I can think of two times when you weren't very respectful in the TV room, Levi teased. _It was in the TV room that I found out what an absolutely filthy little mouth you have, when you want something badly..._

Armin pressed his lips together, blushing.

Levi stretched out, pushing his head against Armin's ribs and resting his chin on Armin's thigh.

"Erwin," he said finally, "Erwin is up at the Hive, with Mike."

__________

**SEPTEMBER, 2011**

He had been gone for four months. _Gone._ The term was so inaccurate that Levi questioned it even being a euphemism for 'dead'.

Erwin was with him, within him, enveloping him. He rippled, like soft static, between Levi and Mike, between Auruo and Petra. He dwelt in the sea of paperwork that had spilled over onto Levi, despite Erwin's best efforts to put his affairs in order.

After Erwin had died, it seemed more plausible that he was simply elsewhere; detained or late, rather than actually dead. Dinnertime had come and gone, without him. Then, a weekend. A week. A month. Erwin had missed young Farlan's 20th birthday. They'd all sat outside, at a long table in the sunshine, missing him. In the orchard, Erwin's hybrid crop had grown heavy on the trees, ready for harvest and still, he hadn't come home.

Levi slept in Erwin's t-shirt. _'Look At Them Apples!'_ was printed on it, along with a cartoon of a donkey.

Scugog Point Road wound its way east from the Concession Road, between Elbow Lake First Nation and the ridge of land belonging to the Zacharius family. It terminated at a scenic lookout over Sturgeon Lake. From here, one could see the lake's islands and cottages and in the distance, the sprawl of Hawley Acres, the patchwork quilt of Churchfarm, and the little orchard that Erwin Smith had planted. The lookout had been Erwin's favourite spot, and he'd chosen it as his final resting place. He'd requested that his ashes be scattered there, overlooking the lake and the orchard.

Halfway up Scugog Point Road, a pickup truck was pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. It was an early autumn night; the darkness on the lonely road was punctuated by moonlight, winking off of the lake through a thin stand of birch.

In the back of the pickup truck sat Levi Ackerman-Smith, cradling an urn of polished applewood and making his way steadily through a case of beer.

After the fifth bottle was discarded, rolling around the rubber guard in the bed of the pickup, Levi admitted defeat, rocking back and forth and crying.

"Shit," he croaked, hugging the urn, "Shit. I'm sorry....I can't do it. Not tonight..." he opened another beer. "What if it rains?"

He lay back, the alcohol numbing his bruised soul.

Above his head, the stars winked through the canopy of birch.

He sat up, calmed. That was how it was; sharp waves of pain, then nostalgia, then an eerie calm which allowed him to function.

He pulled out his phone.

There was a message from Petra: _Did you do it? Are u okay?_

And one from Auruo: _i'm at the hive with Mkie where are u??_

Levi drew his knees up, pulling the urn against his chest. He could go home, walk back into the big house, take the urn upstairs and put it back onto his dresser, beside the jumbled dish of loose change and auction barn tickets. Again. For the third time.

He shut his eyes. That wouldn't do. This cycle was a horrible purgatory that wasn't good for him, and it wasn't good for Erwin.

When the seventh empty bottle rolled out of the truck and onto the dirt road, Erwin's urn very nearly following it, Levi blinked.

"Damn," he shook his head. He thumbed his phone. Found Auruo's message.

 _Im in the lay by on S cugug road_ he pecked.

Moments later, the phone buzzed in his hand. _STAY THERE_ read the message.

He wept; warm, soothing tears. Erwin did not hurt anymore. Of this, Levi was glad.

"I'm sorry," he said again. It wasn't a vague apology; nor was it guilt. Levi, very simply, was sorry that Erwin Smith's time on earth had been so rudely, so terribly interrupted.

Auruo and Mike came, in Auruo's El Camino. Levi saw the headlights approaching, blurred into infinity. He was, by this time, composed and embarrassed, but nevertheless too drunk to have gotten anywhere on his own.

Mike Zacharius stepped out of the car, and hopped up into the flatbed with Levi, the truck dipping beneath his bulk. He reached a hand out toward Levi, helpless. At twenty-six, Mike didn't understand a lick of sign language.

Auruo Bossard wore his leather motorcycle jacket and boots. His hair was swept off of his forehead and combed back, except for a few errant locks which gave him a sloppy sort of charm.

He got into the truck, sitting across from Levi. In the headlights from the El Camino, Levi's delicate face was drawn and puffy.

 _You leave us any beer?_ Auruo signed.

Levi didn't respond, so Auruo reached over and helped himself to a Labatt's Blue, popping the cap.

The three of them looked at the urn.

Levi shook his head, his mouth quirking at the bittersweet absurdity of the situation.

"I can't do it," he said. His words were mushy and lacked emphasis; his tone and diction still not as refined as they would become. "It looks like rain. It will rain on him."

Levi regarded Auruo. His friend was not handsome, but he had a mobile, expressive face; seamed at the cheeks. When he smiled, the seams dimpled into an incorrigible expression and it was nearly impossible not to smile back.

 _You want to go home, buddy?_ Auruo signed.

 _No!_ Levi threw up his hands, exasperated. _I can't take him back again! I can't keep carting him around like a tin of flour. No._

Mike tapped Auruo on the shoulder and said something in the darkness. He looked at Levi, pained.

_Mike wants to know if you'd like Erwin to stay at the Hive for a while. We could put him in the top window, overlooking the lake._

Mike risked touching Levi then, placing a consoling hand onto the small shoulder.

"He'd be just fine, there. Just fine...."

Levi allowed Mike to lift the urn out of his lap, the weight of it seeming to remain there for weeks afterward.

__________

Armin sat quietly, watching Levi.

 _No two people feel the same about these things_ , Levi signed. _We have all evolved, because of Erwin. We make better choices, because of him. I have more to offer...because of him._

Armin nodded, and put his arms around Levi in a warm embrace. It was clear to him that Erwin Smith had left a legacy of patience and kinship in Church River. It strengthened Levi, and gave him purpose.

Armin sighed. The legacy which his parents had left to him seemed, by contrast, a tangled knot that made it difficult to breathe.

__________

Armin arrived at Lindsay airport to find three mobile decontamination units parked at the hangar.

He swallowed, mouth dry.

Inside of the hangar, Moblit Berner was on the phone, speaking into his headset and entering data into his laptop at the same time.

Armin sat down opposite him, and began to unpack his workstation. Moblit looked up at him, raising a finger while listening to the individual he was speaking to. He disconnected.

"Hey, Armin..."

"Hey. Who was that?"

"OPP Norold. Police. Somebody collapsed at Norold Arena this morning. The rink manager. He's in hospital."

Armin compressed his mouth into a grim line. "Does Connie know?"

"Connie is reviewing all of his fieldwork. The contaminants we've identified go beyond what the Ministry base study revealed, but matching the symptoms of the complainants is still hit-and-miss..."

"Where's Hanje?"

"Wapassing."

"Is your summary done?" Armin asked.

"Yes. The hub is very busy, I've left the feed open."

Moblit rose then, excused himself and went to lie down in the bunk room. When he had gone, Armin shut the door of the analytics lab and dimmed the lights.

He sat at the table, keying in the overlays he wished to view. The coloured patterns flashed and cycled, animating the aerial map of the Township.

_Water table quality, soil quality, viral illness, disease, land use, old construction, new construction, fill source..._

Armin breathed in, and out. The world melted into grey, and the patterns took over. After an hour, he accessed his preferences, reducing the data overlays to five. These flashed again and again.

He paused, thumbing open the chat window with the team in Toronto.

_Hey all..._

_Hey Armin,_ it was Marco Bodt that responded

_Do we have someone working with City of Toronto archives today?_

_Yeah._

_Who?_ Armin tapped.

_Me._

_GOOD. I need a rly fast search. A deed title history against four sites downtown. Can u do it???_

_Sure,_ Marco responded.

_The developer operates under three different registered companies. One is Colonial Homes. Colonial Homes does residential - new home builds in Church River and Norold. Need to check site dispositions. Need to know exactly WHERE Colonial got the aggregates and landfill they used up here._

_OK. Will get back to u ASAP._

_Thank u!_

Armin sat back, calling up a map of Toronto and reviewing the locations of the developer's new condo builds, both on the waterfront and in the city's west end. He'd found the missing key; all he needed now was proof.

__________

Farlan Church was sitting on his front stoop as the sun rose. He's managed to get one work boot on, then became too dizzy to keep his breakfast down. He'd thrown up into the feed pail.

"Aw Jay-zus!" he groaned. He peered at the contents of the pail.

Isabel opened the screen door. "What're you doing, baby?"

"Puking."

"What?" She hopped down the stairs, peering into Farlan's pasty face. Held the back of her hand to his forehead.

"You're hot," she declared.

He grinned feebly, "Don't I know it..."

With that, he hunched over and vomited into the pail again.

"You're going back to bed," Isabel decided. "I'll do north barn."

Farlan shook his head.

"Yes. Then I'm taking Kiki to Greer's for today, and calling Dr. Jaeger."

"Don't need to fuss, it's flu," Farlan grumbled.

He looked up at her, standing in the yard like a stern, pigtailed angel, the rising sun catching fire in her hair.

"I love you, Bel," he told her.

"Yeah."

__________

"Moo!" declared Kuchel, a tiny, stubby finger pointing at one of the cows as they funnelled into the dairy parlour.

She was in her carrier, snug against Isabel's chest and facing outward, excited little feet kicking her mother.

"Ow, Kiki! Yes, cows."

"Moo!"

"Cow." said Isabel.

"Cow." the tot pronounced.

Isabel gasped. "That's right, honey! Cow!"

"Cow!"

"What do cows say?"

"Woof."

"Hi, Bel." Levi stood in the doorway of the north barn.

"Morning," she glanced up, waving at Levi. "Three left to do."

"I'll start closing off the quota. What time is the truck?"

"Eight-ten. I told them the next time the driver clips the driveway post I'm sending the dairy a bill."

"Is Farlan in town?"

"Farlan is in bed," she said quietly. "He's sick. Got a fever and puking."

"I'll call Grisha."

"I called already. He can see Farlan at two-thirty."

"I'm going over to Hawley," Levi said.

"Good!" Isabel said. "Will you take Kuchel to Greer's? I want us to talk to Greer. Ian's brother works at Sunnybrook Hospital in the city. I'm worried...I think we need to try and move Farlan's test date up. November's too far away."

There. It was said. Levi regarded Isabel quietly.

She turned her head and swallowed, tears springing into her eyes. "Hell, Levi. Fuck. We've got to do better. Or like...see what Armin's company can do. Or that lawyer. Or Mayor Kirsch. Or... _somebody..._ "

She began to cry in earnest then; tired, dry sobs, one hand resting on the top of Kuchel's head.

Levi crossed the barn floor, embracing her sidelong, trying not to squish the baby.

"This," Isabel hiccuped, angry and frightened, "This....has... _to stop!"_

She took a long, steadying breath. And another. "Right," she said quietly. "Take Kiki."

"Bel," Levi looked into her eyes, "We didn't have Greenspace before.  Now we do. Things will get better. We took too many years to fix this, that was our mistake. We're going to fix it now."

Isabel nodded, swiping at her eyes. She heard the rumble and beep of the dairy truck, and then the crack as it hit the driveway post.

She frowned, her energy returning, and handed Levi her daughter.

"Hey!" she strode out of the barn, stabbing a finger at the driver. "Hey! What'd I tell you a hundred times? Lots of folk around here are deaf, but you're not!"

__________

Levi took Isabel's car, which had Kuchel's carseat in the back. Unaccountably, the baby began to wail as soon as they were on the highway, her mouth stretched into a mournful shape of protest as her face reddened.

"Kiki!" Levi tried to soothe her, not knowing if the sound he was making was in any way comforting. "It's okay, Kiki!"

The little mouth opened wider, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. Levi pulled the vehicle over and took off his shirt. He got into the back seat, and lay it across the baby's lap, stroking the top of her head soothingly.

He made a noise which he hoped was 'shooshing'. The baby's breathing slowed, and she calmed.

He signed to her: _Okay._ This sign, she knew. Like many infants, Kuchel had been taught simple signs, before speech developed. _Okay, milk, mummy, daddy, kiss, cheese, cow._

"You like my stinky shirt," Levi said.

He resumed driving, pulling in to the wide, oval drive in front of the ranch-style house that Greer - Farlan's sister and Levi's cousin - shared with her husband Ian Tang and their two daughters.

Inside of the house he discovered Ian Tang, in his office.

Ian had happened upon Hawley Acres ten years prior. He worked for an irrigation company, and had come to prepare an estimate for Greer Church.

"Tang," Gideon had frowned at the young man, "Y'mean, Tang like the drink?"

Ian, crisp dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, had favoured the burly farmer with a pleasant smile.

"Sure," he said affably.

Ian Tang's work at Hawley Acres had led to another contract at Boyd Ral's, and then at Royal Puckett's.

Attracted to Ian's warmth and perceptiveness, Greer spent a few weekends in Toronto, visiting him. Together, they'd explored the Brickworks Christmas Fair and Kensington Market.

She'd returned home one Sunday night, to find Gideon waiting up for her.

"You're dating that Oriental fella?"

Greer had sat down at the kitchen table with her father. "Oh, _Dad,_ " she'd said, "You don't call people of Asian background 'Oriental'."

Gideon had liked Ian. He was incredibly respectful to Faye, calling her 'Mrs. Church'. He was smart, and treated Greer like a princess.

"My Greer," he'd told his friends in the diner, "she's dating that Oriental fella from the city..."

They'd been married in 2008, at the United Church on Brock Street.

Ian rose from his desk, to greet Levi.

"Hey," Levi nodded.

"Hi, Levi," Ian signed as he spoke. His signing was youtube and robotic, but he could communicate reasonably well. "Isabel said you'd be by."

"Is Greer here?"

Ian nodded. _She'll be back up for lunch shortly. May I?_

He held his arms out for the baby. "Hi Kiki! Come see me?"

Kuchel reached up, grabbing a fistful of Ian's dark hair to stuff into her mouth.

"Tea?" Ian asked.

Levi nodded gratefully. Ian was one of the few people he knew that could prepare loose tea properly.

They sat, placing Kuchel on a mat of foam rubber squares on the living room floor.

 _Farlan is worse,_ Levi signed. _Fever and vomiting._

Ian's smooth brow creased. _Sorry to hear it. What can we do?_

"I hate to ask for favours," Levi signed, and spoke. "Can you call Alex? Is there any way we can get an earlier appointment for testing?"

 _Of course,_ Ian nodded. _Leave it with me._

Levi drank his tea, then wandered down to the steel building that housed the offices and equipment at Hawley Acres.

Here, he found Gideon, and the better part of a dismantled trailer hitch.

"Good Lord," Gideon bellowed, "Shit, don't I miss Rollie Stroud, God rest him! A hitch shouldn't be this hard to change over..."

Levi licked his lips, taking a slow breath, in and out.

"Gideon," he said, "Farlan's no better. He's got a fever today."

Gideon looked up, the rheumy blue eyes tinged with a fear that Levi knew all too well.

"Ah," Gideon flapped a hand, "He's been overdoing it, is all. Get him in a cold bath, he'll be right as rain."

The older man's hands shook. He bent his head to his task again.

"We were hoping," Levi said slowly, "You could spare a few staff for us. For a while. We...I need help."

Gideon put down his spanner onto his workbench, regarding his nephew for a long moment. He faced Levi squarely, making sure to give each word it's full measure.

"Levi. Anything...anything that you need in this world, that's in my power to give you, I will. To you, every bit as much as I would to Farlan, or to Greer. Of course we'll help out. Goes without saying."

Levi's expression was wary.

Gideon sighed, mopping at his forehead. "You know, Levi...I'm not the enemy here."

"What?"

"You know what I'm getting at. I know you've not had an easy go of things. Too much heartbreak in too few years. Sure, I know that. But you tell me..." he paused, "You tell me, if you found a strange man had come in through the window of Kiki's bedroom...well, you tell me honestly what you'd have done to him."

Levi tensed; this was the worst possible conversation to be having at this juncture.

"He was not a _strange_ man," Levi had no idea how he was delivering this statement, only that his throat ached. "He was...my father."

Gideon shook his head slowly. "You don't know what those people were like," he said tersely.

"Maybe," Levi replied, "if you had let him in the front door, he would not have climbed in through my window."

Gideon compressed his lips, looking down at the broken trailer hitch without another word.

______________

Armin had taken a short break to stretch his legs and get a box of Froot Loops. These, he ate one at a time, sitting at the monitor and reviewing the data.

At seven-twenty p.m., a PDF popped up in his in-box. It was a report from Marco, and had been copied to epidemiology, Hanje, the paralegal team, Hartley Bodt and Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre.

Armin dropped the box of Cheerios onto the floor, crushing some of the cereal under the wheels of his chair.

He stared at the screen, shaking. He needed to speak with Levi. No, first he needed to to speak with Hanje.

He dialed.

"Mum!"

The greeting was uncharacteristically urgent. "Armin...what's the matter?"

"Read what Marco just sent you...the landfill Colonial Homes used, they got for free...they were supposed to filter and dispose of it...I searched the deeds and the fill came from the old Toronto Stockyards...also from the original Toronto Hospital - think typhus, cholera - and from tannery dump sites. The bio profile list reads like a phone book. It's archaic. Standard soil testing would miss a lot of it..."

Armin felt panicked.

"Mum, they didn't filter and discard. They took the free soil, and used it in new construction all over the Township."

"Okay," Hanji's voice was deep and grounding. "Good work, Armin. Excellent. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, and we'll get started on next steps."

"I...okay...."

__________

At eight-thirty-six p.m. Farlan Church got out of bed for a popsicle. He made it down the hallway and into the kitchen before collapsing, fighting for breath and calling out for Isabel.

 

 


	16. Providence Blinked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flagging this chapter for medical emergency...hospital setting...hospital anxiety...and related stuff.

"Bel," Farlan gasped her name.

His nose was bleeding; bright coins of red dripping onto the linoleum; onto the backs of his hands, onto the melting blue popsicle discarded on the floor.

"Bel–" his mouth gaped as he struggled for air. His throat was full of glue, lungs burning.

Then, Isabel was kneeling on the floor in front of him, grasping his shoulders and guiding him into an upright position.

"I...can't...breathe..."

"Yes, you can," Isabel replied evenly. "Look at me. Look at my eyes..."

She leaned over and grabbed a tea towel off of the oven door handle. She held it to his face, pressing gently.

He coughed, crimson running down his chin.

"Don't look down," her voice remained steady, "Look at me, baby. Look at me..."

Isabel shook Farlan's rescue inhaler, fitting it to his lips. "Slowly..."

Farlan gagged, panicking.

"Spit," Isabel instructed. He did. She wiped his face.

"Slow..."

Farlan inhaled. And again.

"Good honey," she said quietly. Farlan pitched forward, sagging against her.

Isabel reached up, scrabbling for the cordless phone on the kitchen table. Shaking, she thumbed 9-1-1.

__________

The digital map on the Greenspace monitor table had been replaced by a list of toxins, contaminants and soil-borne diseases.

Twelve grave faces gathered around the table, listening to Greenspace Director Hanje Zoë.

"This," she said quietly, "is the tip of the iceberg. There are thirty-seven contaminated sites in total, spanning Church River, Norold, Wapassing and the Elbow Lake Reservation. Our evacuation timetable has been accelerated. We had scheduled two weeks for the process. We now need to evacuate everyone by end of day, tomorrow."

She touched her tablet, and the map reappeared.

"Now," she continued. "About seventy percent of the families and businesses involved are expecting us, and expecting unfavourable news. The rest are not. Each of you will handle three cases. We will manage this transition with calm, transparency and patience. Questions?"

Connie Springer spoke quietly, "What happens after the evacuation?"

"We will be here," Hanje nodded, "from today, until toxins have been removed from this township. The contaminants are soil-borne; soil is the issue, not water. This gives us a range of options, from cleaning in-situ, soil wash, removal or reconstruction."

"What about contagion?" Mina wanted to know. "Half of these diseases haven't been seen in a hundred years...what about mutations?"

"First protocol, is that we assume contagion. We are streaming individuals to Lindsay Memorial, and working with Sunnybrook Health Sciences in Toronto."

"Have you spoken to Mr. Bodt?" Connie asked.

"He is en route. As of six this morning, an injunction has been granted against the builder, halting all of their activities. And it looks like our class action suit will be conjoined with a Crown lawsuit. The Province of Ontario is bringing charges against the developer as well..."

She looked around. "Connie, the Norold sheriff will meet you at Norold Arena. As of now, the arena is a biohazard. Armin, head out to Churchfarm, please..."

__________

"Is he breathing?" the 911 Operator asked Isabel.

"Yes," she held Farlan's head against her chest. "I don't know why there's so much blood..."

"Can you tell where the blood is coming from, Isabel?"

"His nose. His mouth..."

Kuchel woke and began to howl.

"Isabel, help is on the way..."

Shaking, Isabel fumbled for Farlan's car keys. She thumbed the car alarm button, and the truck began to wail.

"Stay on the phone with me, Isabel..."

"I am," her voice threatened to break.

Kuchel screamed.

"Farlan!" Isabel shook her husband, "Farlan Church! Listen to your daughter! You hear her?"

He had gone slack in her arms.

"Is he still breathing, Isabel?"

She looked up. Levi and Gideon stood in the kitchen doorway.

__________

Gideon's face was ashen. The bungalow's kitchen was lurid in the overhead fluorescent, the floor and the front of Farlan's hoodie scarlet-streaked.

"Help is coming," Isabel gasped. "Dad, can you get Kiki please?"

Gideon disappeared to tend to Kuchel.

"His lips are blue," Isabel sobbed.

"Farlan!" Levi knelt in the blood, holding his arms out and helping Isabel to support Farlan's head.

There were bright lights outside, flashing against the windows. Voices, and sirens.

Gideon went outside with the baby, and then someone else was kneeling with Isabel. She looked up to see a person in a green protective suit and hood. A pair of familiar blue eyes met hers.

"Armin!" she cried.

"It's okay," he took her arm, "The paramedics are here. Let them help him..."

Armin pulled her to her feet, and two more individuals, also in protective gear, entered the kitchen, bending carefully over Farlan and assessing him.

Out on the lawn, Gideon had begun to bellow about something.

"What's going on? Isabel asked, glancing around wildly, "What's that truck for?"

"Come into the trailer with me," Armin encouraged.

"Why?" she began to cry.

"You're going to the hospital. Farlan and you and Kiki. Once we know more about why Farlan is sick, we'll know what to do next. We need to get you decontaminated, to keep you safe."

"Right now?"

"Yes," Armin said gently, "right now..."

"I'm not leaving Farlan!"

"No, you're not. Which is why we must get you cleaned up very quickly."

Armin led Isabel up a steel ramp and into the back of the Greenspace trailer.

"This is Mina," Armin said, "She's going to help you and Kiki get ready. And then you can be with Farlan..."

Armin strode back down the ramp. Inside of the hazmat suit, he was shaking. He hadn't brought disaster to Churchfarm, but as he gazed through the plastic visor at Levi, at Gideon and Faye, and at the prone form of Farlan being wheeled out of the bungalow on a stretcher, he felt as though he had.

Gideon's hollering had subsided, and he stood with an arm around his wife, watching helplessly as his son's home was cordoned off with neon yellow biohazard tape; as the decontamination station's generators growled to life; as the ambulance strobes glanced off of the apple trees, rendering a macabre dance.

Faye bounced Kuchel in her arms; Mina and Isabel exited the decontamination station, Isabel garbed in a blue jumpsuit. Kuchel saw her mother and screamed, chubby arms held out.

Levi stood alone and apart from the group, gazing vacantly across the orchard at the empty, darkened windows of Erwin's A-frame house. The house, in due course, would be cordoned off as well...and there was only Levi to mourn it.

Armin approached him, reaching out a gloved hand. The touch seemed to shock Levi; he stared at Armin.

Armin tugged on Levi's hand, beckoning him into the decontamination station.

Levi stood, still as marble as Armin carefully cut away his bloody t-shirt, depositing it in a plastic contaminant bag. His jeans followed, underwear and socks. He stood, naked, eyes hard and vacant, under the spray in the shower cubicle.

Armin washed Levi carefully, tears welling in his eyes behind the plastic mask. The spray from the hand-held shower nozzle hissed across Levi's solid shoulders. On his shoulder were three pink scratches, where Armin's fingernails had scraped the skin.

When Armin was finished, he beckoned Levi forward, to stand beneath a warm stream of air. Beyond that was a small, brightly-lit plastic cubicle.

"Wait here," Armin instructed.

Armin reappeared several moments later, entering through the opposite door.

He was no longer in hazmat gear; his sweat-damp hair pulled into a stubby tail and his Greenspace shirt clung to his torso.

Levi blinked at him.

 _The big house?_ he signed.

_The big house is clean. The chapel is clean. Also...the barns and the herd. Only the two new home builds are contaminated...the bungalow, and Erwin's A-frame._

_My milk?_

_Clean._

Levi sagged against the wall, in relief.

 _Come,_ Armin motioned Armin. _Put on this robe. You can go to the big house and dress._

______________

Levi stood in his bedroom in the big house, watching the ambulance strobes below his window glancing off of the trees and fences. The cows had begun to shift and low, heavy with milk.

Armin opened a few of Levi's dresser drawers, trying to help but unable to break through Levi's stony mask.

Finally, Levi raised his hands, glancing at Armin.

_I....hated this place. Hated it. When I was a teenager I used to indulge in all manner of fantasies about it...I would imagine Gideon selling it. I would imagine a season of drought. A blight..."_

The red-blue-red light limned his fine features; the hard lines were dissolving, softening into vulnerability.

_I even imagined it burning to the ground...burning...the roar of the flames devouring barn board, scorching the fields...freeing me. Free, to go where I wished and do what I wanted._

_And now...this hurts. It hurts in a way that is different from human pain and human loss...the land is part of me, like a limb, gone septic. I can't bear to cut it off._

_You remember Royal Puckett? One of Rollie's pallbearers? The one-arm farmer?_

Armin nodded.

_I was there the day he lost his arm. So was Terry, his son. It was a bailer accident. The bailer caught Royal's sleeve. He had about four seconds to decide if he would be dead, or armless. He braced his foot and his other hand against the frame of the bailer. I grabbed him around the waist. The bailer took his arm clean off. I tied my belt around his shoulder tight, while Terry ran up to the house to get help._

_That scared Terry off of farming. He rode with a bike gang for a while; out west and then down the coast, all the way to San Diego. He runs the comic shop in town now. The tattoo'd guy with the piercings?_

"Oh yeah," Armin breathed.

_I spent years of my life, hoping I would stop wanting this farm. Hoping that-at the time-Erwin and I would live in the Annex, that I would teach writing in the inner city. Hoping I would forget about Churchfarm._

_As a kid I attended the Deaf school in Norold, and spent time at The Centre for the Deaf as well. The only deaf-fluent dairy farmer I knew was Carl Bewdley. I dragged him home to Churchfarm one afternoon, and he opened up a pathway for conversation between Gideon and me...with Carl's help, I asked Gideon everything...I had questions and comments about each animal, questions about why we did certain things....all of my questions and ideas poured out of me. I remember Gideon just gaping at me...people have a habit of assuming that deaf or mute individuals are uncomprehending...it was that day that Gideon realized I had the instincts to raise dairy cattle. I was seventeen._

Levi left the window, and sat down on the bed beside Armin.

_Erwin brought me back here. At first, I thought I was humouring him...he wanted a quiet life of goat cheese and apples and fall fairs. What I now realize is that he was bringing me back to the land...to my family._

____________

Petra had resolved to be calm and supportive toward her dad. Boyd Ral had been devastated to learn that the home Auruo had built at the east end of the Ral farm sat in a stew of of toxins.

Petra sat on Auruo's crate by the vegetable garden, waiting for the Greenspace unit. She was unwashed, and wearing an old green sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a hairband. At her feet, an overnight bag.

The sun rose as she sat there, bathing the house and fields in warmth. It was a pastoral beauty that hid the rot; poisoned earth that had taken Auruo, and along with him, their three unborn children.

Shame flooded Petra, as she sat, huddled on the crate. Shame and remorse.

"How," she asked the garden, "how could we have gotten it all so wrong?"

Before locking the door, she'd cleaned out the fridge and freezer and unplugged them, vaccuumed the house and left the vaccuum full, so the evac team could examine it's contents. She'd made the bed neatly, and emptied the dishwasher.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she remembered Christmases and summers, movie nights with Auruo, harvests and ice-skating.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered "We were too late..."

"Uh-oh," Mike Zacharius had pulled in to the driveway, seen her distress, and was striding toward her. "Petra, honey...it's goin' to be okay..."

He scooped her up off of the crate, gathering her against his chest.

"This is our _fault_ ," her voice was muffled, "We didn't take care of each other...we didn't listen to Erwin..."

Mike shifted, sitting on the crate, with Petra on his lap.

"Petra," he said. "from where we sit, I guess it looks that way. It feels that way. But for those who are younger...still kids...we're going to be able to give them a fresh start...to get this mess cleaned up. So you could say we botched it, or you could say we fixed it, depending on how you look at it."

She signed, calming herself. "I suppose..."

"There are more moving parts here than just you or me. I mean...what if Hartley Bodt had never bought a cottage on our lake? What if Erwin and Levi had moved to London? What if Auruo hadn't blown out his knee, and went to play hockey in Kingston? Jesus, you could drive yourself nuts with what-if's. You got to let the pieces lay where they fell. Okay?"

"It's hard."

"Yes, it is."

Petra looked up to see three long, white vehicles coming down her driveway. She stood, a hand on Mike's shoulder, waiting.

__________

They took clippings from her hair. Skin samples. Saliva. Blood. They bagged her clothes, and a girl with kind, doe-eyes peering through her hazmat mask, helped Petra to get into a shower cubicle. Afterward, she stood under a dryer that roared.

The technician, Mina, asked Petra to step forward then, and produced a sealed pouch, containing a powder decontaminant.

"What is that?" Petra asked nervously, a hand crossing her belly.

Mina gave Petra the name. "It's an organic compound," she reassured Petra, "Safe for humans. We employ non-chemical strategies whenever possible...this product is safe, even for small babies."

"Good," Petra nodded. "Good. I'm...I'm pregnant."

_____________

Faye Hawley Church sat in a molded melamine chair, in the Emergency Waiting Room at Lindsay Memorial Hospital.

She kept her eyes fixed on the double doors, through which the ambulance team had whisked her unconscious son an hour ago.

Each time a doctor or nurse came out, the door would whoosh-whoosh back and forth and her heart would slam in her chest.

_Not my child._

Those doors had swallowed too many people she loved; Kuchel Church, her dear friend and sister-in-law; Erwin Smith, her nephew's husband; Lorne Peddle, Viv's brother.

_But not my child. You don't get my son._

She tried to remember the victories; individuals who had won their battles with cancer, survived heart attacks, received diagnoses they could manage.

"They got to come out soon," Stringer Magnolia sat beside her, watching the door as well. "Been an hour."

The doctor would come out. It would take Faye a moment to read his face. And then, either pure relief, or unspeakable horror. She glanced around the Emergency triage. The nurses looked calm. The pages across the loudspeaker, sounded calm. It couldn't be that horrible, if everyone was calm.

"What is going on with my BOY?" Gideon was not calm. He leaned across the nurses station, trying to see the computer screen.

Faye popped out of her chair, striding over and taking his arm. "Gideon," she said evenly, "they don't know, honey. Come and sit..."

"I'm going in there."

"No, you're not," Faye guided her husband away from the desk. "They will tell us the minute they know something."

"He needs us."

"It's going to be okay. You'll see. Armin came, and Greenspace has given information to the doctors. We never had Greenspace before. They fix things like this all the time. Things like this, and worse..."

Gideon swallowed, setting his jaw. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "there is nothing worse than this. Nothing."

The door whooshed open.

"Mr. and Mrs. Church?"

The surgeon moved crisply, efficiently; not with the hunched melancholy of loss.

"Mr. and Mrs. Church?"

Faye stood.

"Hi. I'm Doctor Puckett. Farlan is stable."

Faye closed her eyes, awash with relief. She opened them, nodding.

"This morning, a blood vessel ruptured in Farlan's sinus cavity. We've gone in and cauterized it. The bleeding has stopped, for now. He's resting."

"So what now?' Gideon asked.

"Well, the environmental tech - Greenspace - has sent information down to the epidemiology team at Sunnybrook Hospital in Toronto. Once we are satisfied that Farlan is strong enough, he's going for a helicopter ride, to the city."

__________

 _The doctor's name is Puckett....they're everywhere, Pucketts..._ Levi texted to Armin. _Lew Puckett's sister Dorothy's kid, I think._

Armin peered at the screen. His eyes burned.  _Farlan is ok?_

_He's okay for now. A blood vessel in his nose ruptured._

_So what now?_

_I'm going back to the farm. I need to figure the help out, and then we're going into the city, to be near Farlan._

_I'm at Elbow Lake._ Armin replied, _I will meet you at the farm in an hour._

_How was it at Petra's?_

Three dots as Armin typed.

_It's bad. She's okay. She and Boyd are going up the ridge to stay at The Hive. Before we left, Mike pulled Auruo's crate out of the ground. He told me to do what I had to do - power wash it or zap it - but it was coming to the Ridge, with them..._

Levi smiled.

__________

Levi got back to Churchfarm just before lunch. An envelope had been left for him. It was a packet from Greenspace, detailing the next steps. It cautioned him not to enter either contaminated site - the bungalow or Erwin's house - and contained clearance certificates for the Dairy Board, the Ontario Growers' Association and the Board of Health, certifying that Churchfarm's produce was clean.

He went into the house, and made himself a thermos of tea. Four of Gideon's staff had completed the morning milking.

He walked out into the yard as Jean Kirschstein's sportscar pulled up. Levi rolled his eyes.

Jean jumped out. He wore jeans, a wool hat and bright yellow rain boots.

 _Good grief,_ Levi shook his head.

Jean approached, his aquiline face sober. "Levi," he faced the farmer, "We're here to help."

"We?"

Eren Jaeger got out of the car. Levi breathed a sigh of relief. "Eren," he nodded.

"I've got vet cover from Wapassing," Eren said. "I can give a hand here for a week or so."

Jean tapped Levi on the shoulder. "Me, too!" he chimed in.

Levi glanced down at the duck-yellow boots. "You forgot your froggy raincoat," he teased.

Jean scowled.

"Jean," Levi said, "do you even know which end of a cow is which?"

"Yes!" Jean crossed his arms defensively. "This is Farlan's home. Farlan's sick and he's my best friend and I'm here to help!"

"Okay, okay!" Levi held up his hands in protest.

"Besides," Jean continued, "I know your software. I use the same platform in the bakery. I can prepare the paperwork for the dairy truck. I can run the south barn."

"Oh," Levi nodded. "Well, that is something. Thank you, Jean."

"We'll keep things ticking over," Eren assured Levi. "And I'll take good care of Remus."

"Okay. Go down to the south barn and see Charlie. He'll show you where everything is."

"I know my way around," Jean reminded Levi.

Levi walked around the house, to find the Greenspace SUV parked. Armin was getting out, struggling into his sixth change of clothes.

Wordlessly, Levi approached, pulling Armin into his arms. They stood, silently, watching the autumn sun slant through the orchard.

Levi nuzzled into Armin's neck, inhaling a bizarre mix of sweat, latex and stress. "When is it my turn to bathe you?" he asked.

Armin raised his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He dug into his pocket.

"Here," he said to Levi. "Our house keys. Stay at our house in Toronto. It's not far from the hospital. It's got three floors - plenty of room for you and Isabel and Kiki...Gideon and Faye, too..."

"Huh," Levi nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Armin frowned.

"What happens here now?"

Armin signed. "Well...it looks like, at the eleventh hour, the Ministry of Indigenous Affairs is leaning on the government to clean up Elbow Lake. Separate legalities, but they want Greenspace to assess. We're stretched too thin, so we're calling in a subcontractor out of Manitoba. Marley Enviro-Tech. They'll be here by week's end.

"So, you aren't coming back to Toronto?"

"Not yet. Soon. But please, make yourselves at home."

Levi pulled Armin close again. "I love you, Armin Arlert..."

Armin sighed. "I'm glad someone does..."

__________

**JULY, 2000**

There had been noises in Greer's room, every day, for a week.

After finishing their chores each day, Farlan's sister Greer and his cousin Levi had disappeared into Greer's room and closed the door.

Farlan, age eight, was left alone on the other side of the door.

He could hear them.

"Dog," Greer would say.

"Nog," Levi would make a sound.

"No. Dog. Push on your teeth with the tip of your tongue. Dog."

"Nog."

"Dog"

_"Fuck it!"_

"You can say 'Fuck it' perfectly."

Then, silence. Punctuated by a few noises. They would have switched to sign language.

Farlan shuffled around the hallway, bored. It was irksome, being left out by his two favourite people.

He went into his room to fetch Sharkey. Sharkey was a rubber toy shark, about the length of his forearm. He could be filled up with water, in the bathtub. Once, Farlan had filled him up with root beer and had gotten in trouble.

"Dog."

"D. D. Dog. _Dog._ "

"Yes!"

Farlan took a scrap of construction paper. He found a pencil, and printed as carefully as he could:

DO YOU WANT TO BE IN MY GANG  ___YES ___NO

He folded the paper twice, padded down the hall and slid it under Greer's door.

He went back to his room and sat on his bed. Picked Sharkey up. Shoved his hand into Sharkey's mouth. Smacked himself in the head with Sharkey's tail.

After an eternity, he peered into the hall. The note had been shoved back out into the hallway. He scrambled over and unfolded it.

There were two checkmarks beside YES. Farlan grinned. Then, he wrote another message:

_Meting in my room in 5 minutes._

He slipped this under Greer's door.

Then, he went back to his room and sat on his bed cross-legged and waited, holding Sharkey by the tail and flapping him back and forth.

Greer, and then Levi, appeared, and joined him on the small bed. Farlan said nothing for a few minutes, basking in the glow of having the two teenagers in his room, as members of his gang.

Greer wore black jeans, faded and under attack from a purple magic marker. Her hair, pale wheat-brown like his own, was ridged and rippled from being stuck in a crimping iron.

Levi had on his work pants and a white Henley. He signed to Farlan: _Hi Fart._

Farlan shook his head, tapping his sister. "In this gang, you can't call me 'Fart'."

 _Okay,_ signed Levi, holding up his hands equably, _Then I guess I'm out of the gang._

Farlan looked at Greer, who translated.

"Fine!" Farlan grabbed Levi. "Fine, okay. Stay! You can call me Fart."

_Show me the sign for OK_

Farlan complied, forming one of the signs he had learned: _OK._

Greer signed and spoke, "So Farlan, what do we do in your gang?"

Farlan looked at Levi, so that Levi could read his lips: "The rules aren't ready yet," he pronounced the words as cleanly as he could.

Levi demonstrated the signed equivalent, _'The rules aren't ready yet,'_

He growled at Farlan, so that Farlan would learn the sign for 'rules'.

"To be in the gang," Farlan declared, "you guys have to tell me what you're doing in Greer's room. No keeping secrets."

"Okay."

"So, what were you doing?"

Greer pressed her lips together. "Levi has decided that he wants to be bilingual. As much as he can."

Farlan looked from one teen to the other. "What do you mean?"

"He wants to improve his speech. It will allow him to communicate better..."

 _Not better!_ Levi corrected adamantly. _I am an excellent communicator. And a strong writer._

Greer frowned. "Okay then, it will allow him to...share ideas with people that can't sign."

Levi nodded. _I'm going to take speech classes._

Farlan sat still, honoured and a little overwhelmed to be brought into their confidence.

"Levi," he mouthed clearly, "Do you hear anything, at all?"

Levi nodded, and Greer translated his response: _Vibrations. Sometimes buzzing. I can hear heavy, low buzzing, from machinery, or from Gideon's voice._

Farlan snickered. "Can you hear me?" he hollered.

"Shush, Farlan!" Greer hissed. "Not so loud!"

_No, Fart. I can't hear you. But I can see you, and touch you and I can even smell your cookie breath when you have eaten the Oreos that you hide in your room._

"Don't tell dad."

"No," said Levi. Then he signed: _What happens in the gang, stays in the gang._

__________

A few weeks after he'd started his gang, the heavy buzz that Levi had described, Gideon's Church's voice, woke Farlan. 

It was dark. Gideon was downstairs, bellowing angrily.

Intrigued, Farlan grabbed Sharkey and crept out onto the landing. He couldn't see into the living room. He sat down.

 _"You stay put until I'm done!"_ Gideon roared at someone in the living room. Farlan sucked in a breath. This was serious.

He slid, on silent pyjama bottoms, down two stairs. There. He could see the couch. Sitting on it were Greer and Levi. He couldn't see his dad or his mom.

It was a curious sight. Levi and Greer had rainbow stickers on their cheeks, and strings of coloured beads around their necks.

Farlan flushed with indignation. They had rainbow stickers on their faces. Rainbow stickers! And bead strings. And they hadn't included him. His eyes narrowed, and he found himself spitefully pleased that Gideon's tongue-lashing continued.

"I knew this would happen!" Greer retorted. She turned to Levi and signed. _See, I told you he'd lose his mind._

"What are you telling him?" Gideon shouted at his daughter.

"You should be able to _tell_ ," his daughter fired back. "You've had sixteen years to learn his language and still you can barely get by!"

"You are on thin ice, missy..." Gideon's voice dropped threateningly.

Farlan bumped down another step.

Levi's grey eyes flicked upward, noticing him. His expression didn't change.

"You two don't know why you're in trouble do you?" Gideon challenged the teens.

"Because we went to Pride."

"No! Wrong! No. You're in trouble because you _took your mother's car, and you don't have a license!_ "

"I do so!" Greer replied.

"No, you have a learner's permit. You can't be in a car without a licensed driver, and you can't drive after dark! Christ, Greer, if you had hit someone...or had an accident..."

Gideon ran an agitated hand through his dark hair. "Jesus, I would have taken you downtown! All you had to do was ask!"

"I don't believe you."

Gideon stepped forward then, following Levi's gaze out to the stairwell. He saw Farlan peering through the railing.

"Git!" roared Gideon, jabbing a finger toward Farlan's bedroom. Farlan scrambled back to safety at the top of the stairs.

"I am gay."

Hoarse, firm words issued from Levi. He stood, challenging Gideon.

Utter silence from the living room. Farlan slid back down two stairs, as if propelled by an unseen force. Sharkey hung out of his chubby hand.

"I am gay," Levi repeated, turning to Greer to verify whether his words had actually been audible.

"It's my job," Gideon said finally, and with a tad less hostility, "to keep you alive and in _one piece_ long enough to figure all of that out! To find a...a fella. Or, to get speech lessons. Or to have a part of this farm. Same goes for you, Greer. I'd have taken you downtown. You were reckless, and you've lost the privilege of driving."

Gideon grabbed Greer's purse, extracting her learner's permit. He tore it into small pieces, which fluttered to the floor.

Greer let out a screech. _"I haaaaate you!"_

_Plop._

Startled, Farlan had dropped Sharkey through the railing and onto the downstairs hallway floor.

"And you!" Gideon stalked into the hallway, snatching up Farlan's beloved toy, "You've just gone and lost this, Mister! _Forever!_ "

Farlan began to wail.

"Get into that bed, _now_!"

Farlan ran into his room, slamming the door and escalating into a full-blown meltdown.

"I'm moving out!" Greer shouted, striding past her father, running up the stairs and slamming her own door.

Gideon glared balefully up the stairs.

Then he approached Levi, picking up a rainbow pin that had fallen onto the carpet. He placed it carefully into Levi's hand.

"This here tonight, is not about you being a gay person," Gideon enunciated carefully, meeting the boy's glare head-on.

Levi nodded.

"Now, you get out of my sight, too. Go down to the chapel, to bed."

After Levi had left, Gideon shrugged into his padded work shirt.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Faye asked him.

"South barn."

"Oh, no you're not. You wanted to handle this, so I didn't say a word. I let you handle it. And now, you can sit here and listen to both your children bawling."

Gideon Church slumped onto his couch, flummoxed and confused by family dynamics, and not for the last time.

__________

Farlan hurt. He was stiff, his joints full of broken glass. There was something in his mouth, which he tried to spit out.

"Easy," a deep voice said. His dad.

He opened his eyes to a blur of white light. Shut them again.

"Kiki?" he rasped.

"Kiki's fine. Everyone's fine..."

Farlan looked around. He was in bed, inside of a clear plastic tent. Beside him sat Gideon, his bulk stuffed into an aqua-coloured jumpsuit, his nose and mouth covered by a facemask.

"Oh, Jeezus, you're a sight," Farlan chuckled feebly, and coughed. He had an intravenous drip in his arm, and could feel the uncomfortable sting of a catheter.

On the walls were large, red biohazard symbols. He saw these and tensed, fear taking hold.

"Dad?"

Gideon laid a gloved hand on his son's arm. "It's okay, now. It's okay. We're in Toronto, for your tests, just a little sooner than we'd said."

"Toronto? Where's Bel?"

"She's fine...she's having some tests too. They're going to figure it all out, now..."

Farlan looked up at his dad, his face pinched with pain and apprehension.

"Here," Gideon reached over, handing something to Farlan. A toy.

Farlan turned it in his hands, smiling. "Sharkey...Is this my shark? The same one? I don't believe it..."

"I kept it."

Farlan squeezed the toy in his large, broad, work-roughened hand. "I get it now. It's sure not easy, being a dad..."

He drifted off to sleep, smiling. 


	17. Facetime

In the spring of 1993, Ansel Arlert and Hanje Zoë had had a colossal argument. It had escalated to the point that Hanje had painted the historic Toronto home that she and Ansel co-owned, sunshine yellow, out of spite.

The large, square, brick-and plaster home sat on a corner lot in Toronto's east-end Leaside neighbourhood. The home's previous owner had been a globe-trotting cousin of the Eaton family, and his world travels had netted an eclectic collection of artifacts.

In 1990, the Greenspace business partners had purchased the investment property, including contents, when the seller had relocated to Papua, New Guinea.

The house full of oddities had filled the two scientists with a childish glee.

Maryann Arlert, her newborn chick cuddled in a sling against her chest, had signed to both of them:

_Have you two gone mad? This junk has to go._

Hanje and Ansel, who had been sparring theatrically with a pair of fencing foils, had lowered their weapons like chastened children.

_But...._

_All of it,_  Maryann stabbed at the air. _Everything. This place is a deathtrap for a baby._

Ansel had wrapped his long arms around his wife and bent his head to nose the angelic scent of his baby son.

"We'll talk," he stalled.

They had talked, back at their condo apartment. Or rather, Maryann had signed and Ansel had listened, without interrupting.

While she'd agreed to the house purchase as an investment, Maryann preferred living in their condo. It was modern, clean, and manageable. There was round-the-clock security, and it was close to Greenspace's offices.

Maryann hadn't felt quite herself since Armin's birth; she was often overwhelmed, irritable and teary.

 _Please,_ she'd entreated her husband, _I want us to stay here, just until I find my feet again. Okay?_

"Of course," Ansel had nodded, reaching for the baby. "We'll take it one day at a time."

She'd closed her blue eyes, cherishing the small victory. They had never moved.

Instead, Hanje Zoë had taken up residence in the Eaton house and, shortly thereafter, Rico Brzenska had joined her there.

While some of the house's curiosities had been re-homed, a great many had remained including a massive, stuffed tortoise whose name, in life, had been Darwin.

Once Armin was old enough not to impale himself or put an eye out, the Arlerts had begun spending summer weekends at the house enjoying the large, shady yard and the pool.

After the death of his parents, Armin had become a permanent resident of the yellow house. A solitary child, he'd explored his domain, inventing fantastical stories about the deep, dark closets and examining the garden's creeping, crawling occupants beneath a huge magnifying glass the size of his head.

Lorne Peddle had come down from Norold, and had stayed for six months. His visit had been lengthier than anticipated, as he and Hanje had had difficulty determining where, and with whom, Armin would be happiest. It had finally been agreed upon that Armin would continue at the Toronto School for the Deaf, living with Hanje and Rico during the school term. Summers would be spent in Norold, with Lorne.

Hanje had painted Armin's three rooms on the third floor a pale, beachy blue. She'd added wispy clouds using a sponge, and hung up Armin's model airplanes with fishing line. She'd mounted an airplane propeller over his twin bed.

Together, the little family had learned to walk again, and eventually to fly.

_______________

Levi Ackerman thought that, as a farmer, he'd smelled every peculiar odour that life had to offer. He'd been wrong. When he turned the key and opened the huge oak door of the yellow house, he was met with a curious rush of orange wood polish, dirty fish tank, sandalwood and rank potato.

"Gah!" he wrinkled his nose.

Isabel was behind him. She tapped Levi's shoulder. "It's okay," she said when he turned, "they've been away from home for weeks. We'll give it an air-out..."

Isabel stepped into the hallway. "Good grief, Levi! Look at that!"

The staircase was mahogany, it's banister a twelve-foot-long carved wooden snake. The snake's head formed the newel at the base the stairs, it's eyes two black chips of obsidian.

Levi smirked. He touched the snake's snout. Isabel screeched and jumped.

"What?" Levi asked her. "What's the matter?"

Isabel giggled. "When you touch it's nose, it makes a rattle noise! Oh my _gawd!_ "

She sighed. "Geez, that's the first laugh I've had in days..."

"You should rest," Levi signed, and spoke.

Isabel shook her head. "No. I need to grab a shower and head back. I can bring Kiki here in the morning, but I want to stay with her and Farlan at the hospital tonight. Faye and Gideon will come here to sleep tonight..."

Lev nodded. "OK. I'll get things organized...figure out the wifi. Make some food..."

__________

Isabel left, taking Levi's keys to drive herself back to the hospital. She shut the door, leaving Levi alone in the house.

He gazed around Armin's home, curiosity mounting despite his exhaustion. He approached the snake banister again, touching it's snout. Ah. He could feel the vibration of the rattle now. He smirked.

He'd forgotten the pulse of the city. The palpable thrum of traffic. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the subway trains which ran underground. The window-rattling burr of construction equipment or heavy trucks.

He unknotted the bandanna he had around his neck and tied it onto his head. Then, he threw open the windows to admit the warm, autumn breeze.

In the kitchen, he found a trash bin, containing leftover pierogies, decomposing to the point of vodka. That had been responsible for the nasty reek. He pulled out the bag and tied it off, depositing it onto the back porch.

He took out his phone. No wifi. 

 _I know ur busy,_ he texted Armin, _when you have a minute, let me know about wifi?_

He stared at the message.

_...and also the fish tank is green. What do I do?_

He pressed, 'send'.

Levi picked up his bag and walked upstairs to the second floor. Here was a guest room for Faye and Gideon to stay in.

He climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor. At the top was a door. He opened it carefully; along it's jamb was a series of lines, scribed in red pen: height measurements for a growing child: _Armin, age 4. Armin, age 7._ Levi thumbed one of the notches. _Armin, age twelve._ He'd been small, for twelve.

Levi stepped into the apartment consisting of a sitting room, a small office and a bedroom. The baby-blue walls had been repainted a pale chalk grey; the wood trim, a crisp white.

Levi stopped short. Almost every square inch of wall space in the office was plastered with sketches, clippings, notes, charts. A large whiteboard contained a snail-orgy of scribble; red and green and blue. Legions of sticky notes marched across the wall, acid pink and yellow.

Levi blinked.

He felt as though Armin's mind had swallowed him whole; pockets of pattern and chaos, facts and figures, hope and darkness.

His eyes panned the information. There were articles about the Love Canal. Temagami. Manitoulin. The Athabasca disaster. The James Bay project. Numbers and patterns and bullets.

He wandered into the cool, sparse bedroom. Here, he found Armin's twin bed - probably from childhood - quilt and pillows haphazard. He sat down on it and lay back. Turned his head and inhaled. The bed smelled of his boy. Levi's body stirred in response. He ran a hand over the sheets, encountering nubs of cookie crumbs.

"Armin," he scowled.

He pulled the sheets from the bed, went downstairs and collected the guest room sheets as well. He stuffed the wad of bedding into the washer.

In the kitchen, he found a crock pot that was reasonably clean. He opened the fridge, noting a bank of test tubes containing pale green gunge. And a single bottle of mustard. He sighed. It would have to be takeout, until he could make it to the grocery store.

__________

Armin texted sometime later: _in the basement is the modem and three routers. Reboot the blue router. Password is gr33nspace._

Levi had done this, and the wifi had sprung to life.

Before Gideon and Faye had arrived at the house, he'd managed to wash and dry the bedding, air out the house, give the bathrooms a quick scrub and order Chinese food.

Late that night, Levi sat, cross-legged on Armin's bed, his laptop propped open. He thumbed through some messages until the Facetime icon flashed.

He accepted the call. And there was Armin, sitting on his bed at Churchfarm, in the Chapel.

Armin gave him a weary, heartfelt smile, signing Levi's name-sign.

 _Hi..._ Levi signed gently  _...Armin....Armin...._

He looked at the screen. Armin's face was bright with amusement. _I'm in your room and you're in my room. This is too weird..._

Levi nodded, quirking an eyebrow. _You're telling me...._

Armin leaned closer. _Did you find everything?_

_Back up. I can't see what you're saying._

Armin sat back. _Did you find everything?_

_Yes, we're fine._

_You're on my bed,_ signed Armin.

 _Is this a bed?_ Levi responded _I thought it was an ottoman._

_Hah._

_Tell me about your day,_ Armin signed.

_Ah, well. Let's see. Farlan tried to pull his IV out of his arm and go home. He's in a bio-containment room and he can't move around. They won't take out his catheter just yet. Lying still for hours is making his joints sore. When we asked for help with his movements - they sent a bran muffin and prunes!_

_Whaaat?_

_We wanted a physiotherapist...to help him exercise...and we got prunes._

Armin rolled his eyes, chuckling.

_They've had a breakthrough with Kiki. They've figured out that she's been fighting a low-grade infection for a couple months. They have her on antibiotics and Isabel can bring her here tomorrow._

_Any more news on Farlan?_ Armin asked

_They're not sure yet. They took detailed family medical histories, including my mom's. They think Farlan's issues are a mix of contaminant-related and hereditary. They've taken so much blood he looks like a pincushion. They gave him something for the joint pain, so he's pretty zoned. In-and-out of sleep._

Levi paused. _Your house is a trip._

Armin nodded. _Yeah. It's unusual..._

_Are you trying to kill your fish?_

Armin looked rueful. _We have a friend that comes in and takes care of the fish, and the iguana. I told her not to come this week, because I thought I'd be back._

_.........Iguana?_

Armin nodded. _Yeah. Her name is Solo._

 _Where???_ Levi jabbed urgently. _Where is this fucking Iguana?_

_You didn't meet her?_

Levi rose to his knees, sharp eyes sweeping the room. He glared back at the screen, to find Armin holding his sides and laughing.

"Levi!" he pointed, "You should see your face!"

_Not funny. Where is it?_

_The fish-sitter takes her. The need alot of care. She'll bring Solo back when we're home again._

_You're a brat. And you eat cookies in bed._ Levi offered Armin a sour expression.

Armin chuckled. _Busted._

_I did a load of wash and stuff. I hope that's ok._

_Thanks...and sorry you had to do that...it would have been different if I'd been there to host you properly._

_We appreciate everything...thank you._

_Are Gideon and Faye still up?_

_No. In bed, in your guest room._

Levi watch Armin, honey-skinned in the light of the milk glass lamp.

_How is the farm?_

Armin responded: _Eren has everything under control. He doesn't use the ATV for work; he rides Checkers._

_Yes, I know. He's an excellent horseman._

_Jean is determined to be useful! He had a yellow rubber raincoat that upset the cows, so he had to change._

Levi dropped his head into his hands. He peeked at Armin.

 _But it's okay, everything's okay,_ Armin signed hastily. _After work today I made up a new rotation for the milk parlour._

Levi cocked his head.

 _Yes,_ Armin continued, leaning forward excitedly. _See, I charted the milk yield from each of the lactating cows for the past four months, along with the clock-in when they were milked each morning, and I developed an algorithm to achieve the quota in the shortest possible time. I shaved off 34 minutes!_

"How did you do that so quickly?"

 _I just studied the pattern....everything has a pattern_. _I also took the old mirror from the shed and mounted it onto the driveway post, so the dairy driver can see where he's going._

_And?_

_Well, he still hit the post._

_But we made quota this morning and everything is o....kay._

Levi regarded Armin quietly.  _What about your work with Greenspace? The relocations? Are you finished?_

Armin nodded. _We've set up a temporary office in Norold and one in Church River. Each plaintiff will have a liaison, to help them make decisions about their property. They'll be able to get feedback about their settlement, and their insurance claim. People are in limbo; they can't make decisions until they know what compensation, if any, is coming. Greenspace is undertaking the cleanup, regardless of the trial outcome. The Province's case against the developer pretty much guarantees a budget for cleanup._

 _So what does this mean, for you?_ Levi took a sip of tea.

_Well. My assignment as a tech and as an analyst is now concluded. I'm coming back to Toronto next week. It's time for my least-favourite part of the job._

_What is that?_

_Executive officer at Greenspace. Board member. A constant reminder that I'm a small man trying to fill enormous shoes. It's impossible..._

Levi made a gentle, affectionate sign. _Armin.....Armin. You aren't a small man, whatever that means. Don't say that._

Armin looked away; probably out of the window, to where the barn's safe lights glowed orange in the darkness.

_Did you see the articles about my dad?_

Levi had. _The Flying Dutchman_ , one was titled. _Maverick Environmentalist Ansel Arlert's Mad Brilliance._

He'd opened the magazine. Inside, a photo of a much larger man than Levi had imagined. His eyes, wide and expressive like Armin's, burned like a prophet's. Tucked under his arm, posed by the photographer but no less moving, was a tiny boy of three, white blond and curled like a fairie inside of a walnut shell.

 _My dad,_ Armin signed in slow, heavy cadence, _is positioned somewhere between Elvis and Jesus at Greenspace._

Levi watched patiently, giving Armin the space to gather his thoughts.

 _I can manage the science,_ Armin signed finally. _I'm good at my job. So is Connie. So is Thom, each in our own way. I have...A certain type of memory - I process visual information in a specific way...it helps me with analytics. Everything for me is visual...._

_I know. It looks like your brain threw up on your walls._

Armin pressed his lips together, self-conscious yet pleased that Levi was interested.

_I suspect that sign-language is my first language in part, because of how my mind works. To me, sign language feels...more precise, richer, cleaner than spoken-word._

Levi nodded.

_My dad...my dad was like...a ball of energy that someone had stuffed into human skin. He was magnetic. Everyone wanted to be near him. He was big; he had long hair and big hands and a big chest. He was a visionary. Impulsive. Passionate._

_Like Hanje,_ Levi observed.

 _Yes!_  Armin made an expansive gesture, appreciating the connection Levi had drawn. _Like Hanje. They were like...oil and more oil. Just add fire....and boom! The unstoppable force. And...._

Armin scratched his nose.  _Well, and then, you have me. A little runt in rubber boots, who flies a plane. My dad could talk anyone, into anything...I just...I dunno._

Levi watched the pale, bent head.

"Armin!" Levi spoke.

Armin jumped.

Levi raised his hands. _Armin, in twenty years' time, someone will be looking at a magazine about the environment, or about avionics...but they will be reading an article about you, wishing there was some way that they could be like Armin Arlert. They will be impressed that such a gifted scientist is so relatable. So sincere. And committed._

Armin laughed, flushing at the praise. _I love you._

_I love you back. And I miss you._

_I had dinner at Mike's tonight,_ Armin signed. _Petra –_ he stopped.

 _Petra what?_ Levi frowned.

Armin bit his lip.  _You should message her...._

_Fine, but you tell me right now...is she okay?_

Seeing Levi's mouth tighten in distress, Armin signed, _Well, Petra and Mike...she's pregnant._

_Ah. I know._

_I feel badly for speaking out of turn. It's not my news..._

_It's okay. I know. How is she?_

_She's at Lindsay Memorial. She needs bed-rest, so she has volunteered for a full research panel, as a person who lived at a contaminated site. They will test extensively and what they learn about her, will help others._

_Her and Auruo...they lost babies._ Levi's signed comment was small, sad.

Armin nodded. _She's okay. Honest. And Mike is fussing and clucking like a big hen..._

_Also Levi...we have a court date. October 3rd. Three weeks from now._

_I see_

_It will be chaotic. There will be a lot of news coverage. Managing this process is what Moblit does. I'm just like_....Armin threw up his hands.

He looked, and sounded, overwhelmed. Levi signed: _Armin...as much of a pain in my ass as Gideon is, he taught me one thing: you can't milk all the cows at once. Well...nowadays you practically can...but you understand my drift? You don't need to figure out this entire puzzle by yourself, right now._

He gestured softly; affectionate signs, intended to soothe.

 _I looked at your sketches,_ Levi gestured, _You draw well._

_I know it's messy there. Your place is so clean. So is Isabel's._

_I love the sketches of Manitoulin,_ Levi signed, _The bent pines. Nostalgic._

Armin flushed a little. _Why Mr. Ackerman,_ he signed, _are you looking at my etchings?_

 _I'm in your bedroom,_ Levi replied. _Looking at your etchings. It's a bit of a miracle you got me here,_  he teased, _you have no game at all. You're a horrible flirt. A disaster._

The blue eyes widened playfully. _Hey, I wasn't that bad! There was no mistaking my intentions, was there?_

_No, most certainly not._

_See?_

_And thank you for bringing one condom to tea. And no lube._

"Stop!" Armin mouthed, laughing. "Stop it!"

 _You made it so difficult,_ Armin signed. _But I am very stubborn._

_Lucky for me._

_Why were you so awful?_

_I'm not awful. I'm mysterious._ Levi raised a slow, delicate brow.

Armin shook his head.

Levi lifted his hands, _It is very rare for signing to be the first language of a hearing person. You were able to go deep, right away. You even had the same local vernacular. There was nowhere I could go, that you couldn't follow._

Armin nodded.

_I was caught off-guard by that; I wasn't ready to cede my territory so easily. To someone so disarming, in every way._

_Staaaahp!_

_Your randomness, your clumsiness, your quirks...these are all such wonderful things. You are impossible to dislike. I tried._

Armin had dropped his hands, watching Levi.

 _Have you ever been courted in sign language?_ Levi asked.

 _I...I don't know._  

Levi leaned over, grasping his teacup by the rim, taking a swallow.

_You would know, if you had. You should be. Someone should sign poetry to you; or better, talk dirty to you..._

_Oh?_

_A kiss,_ Levi gestured. _A slow, deep kiss before you leave for work, that makes you hard all day. Coming home with your skin pebbled and your groin aching and your throat tight. Wanting to be kissed again, only to find yourself bent over the kitchen table, a hot tongue flicking against your ass, pulling at the soft skin, teeth sucking red blossoms into your perfect, round, spankable bottom..._

Armin swallowed, eyes riveted to the screen.

 _Did you get all of that?_ Levi signed.

"Yes," Armin spoke.

_I want you cute. Cute, and then bratty, then broken, then begging. Squirming and panting...I want to tease you...hold you on my lap and leisurely graze the tip of your pretty, curved cock through your underwear with my thumb while we watch a movie...Rub you gently until you are throbbing like a toothache, leaking like a little snail, pressing your gorgeous ass backward against my cock - did you miss anything I just told you?_

A slight shake of the head. Armin caught his flushed lip between his teeth.

 _Good,_ Levi gave a slow, slightly evil smile.

_You'll lay back against me, head falling against my shoulder, lovely neck exposed. I'll take my other hand, and hold it to your throat. I do this because I am an expert at feeling your vocal vibration against the palm of my hand. I know when you gasp. When you moan, and how loud. I know the buzz of my own name, when you utter it. And you will moan, when I finally push my hand inside of your underwear, curl my fingers around your cock, and stroke you..._

_Oh, fuck, Levi!_ Armin sat backward, until his head bumped against the brass headboard.

 _You're hard,_ Levi observed, pleased.

"I should guess so!" Armin breathed.

Levi regarded Armin. His t-shirt had ridden up, exposing his abdomen; he wore grey cotton briefs, his erection straining against the fabric.

 _Fuck, you're beautiful,_ Levi signed, with ardor, _Fuck. Thank Jesus you've come into my life at a time when I can fully, truly appreciate you...._

 _What about the rest of your story?_ Armin prompted mischievously.

_Where was I? I believe I had one hand around your throat and the other in your pants, teasing your hard-on...I'm not taking your underwear off._

_No?_

_No. I know you like clothes on sometimes...the texture. The confinement. The sense that you're being a bad boy, letting me put my hand down there...so...I rub a little faster...you moan a little louder; I know this, so I tighten my hand around your throat._

_I like that_ Armin whispered. His legs drifted apart, unconsciously providing Levi with a glorious view of his crotch.

_....I take a little squirt of lube, slide my hand back into your undies, and rub harder. Faster. Scrape that soft skin with my callouses. Stroke my bad little boy..._

_Fuck. Fuck._ Armin drew his knees up further, a nervous hand running up and down his inner thigh.

 _Jesus, Levi._..he panted.

Levi shifted, his own arousal apparent. _Did I lose you?_ he signed.

"No," Armin mouthed. "No...no...." Capitulating, he slid a hand into his briefs, whimpering.

 _Are you going to?_ Levi signed.

"I have to..." Armin raised his hips off the bed, rutting slowly against his own palm. "I...fuck, I'm dizzy...."

_I want to watch you masturbate..._

With great reluctance, Armin released his cock and signed, _No, you don't. You won't find it interesting..._

_Oh? Why not?_

_Well if...if I were doing it for you...you know...as a little private show...that's one thing...but when I jerk off...really jerk off, it's not much to watch. I just...I close my eyes. I get really far inside of my own head...sometimes I drift off..._

_I think that is beautiful,_ Levi signed. _Let's wind down. Get ready to sleep. I'll lie down and just be with you. if you fall asleep, you fall asleep..._

_Are you gonna?_

_No. I want the sight of you like this, burned into my memory for all time..._

Levi turned off the light. He lay on his side, the laptop in front of him bathing his face in cool light.

Armin placed his own laptop a few feet from the bed, on the washstand. He dimmed the milk-glass lamp slightly.

He signed, _Can you see me still? All of me?_

 _Yes,_ Levi signed. _Yes, gorgeous boy. Are you thinking about being on my lap?_

_Yes._

Armin shut his eyes. He lay back on the chapel bed. His temples throbbed and he trembled. He'd never in his life felt so exposed; so vulnerable. It was tender, and decadent.

Levi watched as Armin relaxed, head lolling back, Adam's apple sharp in the pale throat as he swallowed.

Armin lifted his t-shirt a little more, running a hand across his belly, fingertips tickling his erection through his underwear. He dipped his hand lower, squeezing his balls gently. He pushed the undergarment down a couple of inches, the sharp crests of his hipbones pale in the lamplight.

He sucked on his thumb, wetting it, and rubbing it lightly over the head of his cock, now flushed a deep rose.

Levi groaned as a bead of precum slicked the head of Armin's cock. The boy gasped, eyes still closed, rubbing his thumb in slow circles.

He stopped then, eyes half open, feeling around the bed for the little tube of lubricant. Having found his prize, he soaked his palm, slid his hand inside of his underwear, and lay back. Slowly, almost lovingly, he caressed his entire length, from root to tip; the briefs riding up between his legs, exposing bits of sweet pink flesh.

"Oh...fuck...ooohhh..." Armin moaned, legs spreading wider.

Then, he was still; chest rising and falling, eyes closed. He rolled over, onto his belly.

Levi wondered if Armin had drifted off.

Then, Armin spread his knees, raised his bottom a little higher and pressed his shoulders against the mattress.

Slowly, he pulled his underwear down, over his rounded ass and down his thighs. He slid a hand beneath his body, hips undulating and buttocks clenching as he thrust slowly into his fist.

Levi watched, transfixed.

Armin's face was turned toward Levi, eyes closed, mouth open. He'd dropped away from reality, featured slackened, suffused with pleasure. He stroked himself faster, breath coming in sharp gasps. He ground his hips sensually, fucking his fist as he came, body quivering and then melting bonelessly against the mattress.

Then, he was utterly still.

Levi blinked. He was shaking, belly boiling as if he'd swallowed a hornet's nest.

"Huh..." He shuddered helplessly. He stood, with some vague notion that he wanted to get a glass of water, lurched against the wall and plunged a hand into his pyjama pants.

A spasm of pure lust knotted his balls, and he gasped, unable to do anything except fist himself furiously, spurting into the laundry basket, clenching his teeth against the scream in his throat.

_Fuck...Armin...Armin...my baby..._

He sank to his knees, sweat-glazed, his heart hammering. Exhaled slowly, numbed, as though he'd just been through a hurricane.

__________

Armin had fallen into a deep sleep, supine and soft, on the bed in the Chapel. Levi lay on his side, in fresh pyjamas, watching him.

The wind rustled the leaves outside of the Chapel, mottled shapes ghosting against Armin's skin. Levi wanted to pull the old quilt up, over his lover, stroke his hair, hold him.

He had to content himself with touching the screen with a finger, tracing the sweet silhouette, whispering his name.

Outside, the traffic throbbed and buzzed. Levi drifted off, in Armin's small bed, in the yellow house in Toronto.


	18. Follow The Light

Lindsay Memorial Hospital used progress cards for the children in Ward Two. Each day, the seven children under observation for a variety of rashes, respiratory infections and other chronic conditions, filled out a card.

The cards contained questions:

_Do you feel tired?_

_Is your tummy sore?_

_Is your face itchy?_

Once each child had responded to as many questions as they could, they were rewarded with a page of colourful stickers and a printed scene upon which to place them.

"Look, Mrs. Bossard," Kyle Puckett approached Petra one morning, "Nemo stickers!"

It was strange talking to Mrs. Bossard outside of the library, and in her hospital outfit. She wore blue mask and gown over her sweatshirt, and had a plastic cap on her head. She had drawn a cat-nose and whiskers onto her mask, and, immediately, all of the children had demanded animal noses on their masks as well.

"Mrs. _Bossard_ ," She felt a tug on her sleeve, "Nemo!"

Petra had been lost in thought. She blinked, regarded the two dark eyes above the puppy mask. "Nice! Nemo is your favourite, Kyle," she responded.

"Dory is," Kyle corrected her.

Petra reached over, picking up a book from the table beside her.

"Hey guys! Would anybody like to help me read this story?" she asked.

The seven children crept closer, grateful for a distraction from the tense, hovering faces of their parents.

 _James and the Giant Peach_ had been the title of the story. After she'd read it and led a short discussion with the small group, masked as dogs and kittens and dinosaurs, she'd gone to sit in the detox station, where she'd stripped of her visiting garb, showered and returned to her room.

She was sitting by the window looking across the hospital lawn toward Walmart and Pizza Hut when Mike arrived.

He knelt in front of her, placed his head on her lap and asked her belly, "What did you two get up to, today?"

Petra ran a hand through the shag of hay-coloured hair. "Well, we read _'James and the Giant Peach'_ ," she answered. "And Deirdre visited so we could review book selections for the 2018 budget."

Mike hauled himself into the chair opposite Petra and began laying out the lunch he'd brought. "That doesn't sound much like resting," he rumbled.

"I'm very slow and careful," Petra regarded him levelly. "It eases my anxiety to do some familiar things."

Mike regarded a series of scratches on her forearm. "Those are new."

"They're constructing allergy profiles," Petra reached for a cup of yogurt. "And comparing current allergic reactions to past ones, to see if there is a difference. For example, I'm now allergic to honey and syrup..."

The grey eyes widened in alarm. She laughed. "No, I'm not! I'm not, silly! No wonder Levi teases you all the time."

He leaned over, kissing her mouth softly. "Good," he rumbled. "'Cause syrup and honey's all I got..."

"No," Petra eyed the lunch bag, "You brought me some cherries."

Petra reached over, helping herself to a cherry. Absently she bit down. "Hmmf!" she frowned, spitting out the cherry, along with the crown of one of her molars.

"Shit," she frowned. "I bit the pip."

She studied the crown, as her tongue pressed against the roughened molar.

"That a crown?" Mike was asking, but Petra scarcely heard him. She touched the crown with the tip of her finger.

She stood, retrieving her phone. She thumbed a number and dialled.

"Hi, Petra!" Armin's bright voice on the other end of the call.

"Hey," she said. "Armin...can your team get something from my house and send it to the epidemiology lab at Sunnybrook in Toronto?"

"Sure..."

"You had said something to me about analyzing teeth. I've just remembered...I kept all of Auruo's wisdom teeth, in a dental envelope, in my dresser drawer. He didn't have them extracted until he got sick..."

__________

**ONE WEEK LATER**

Juliet Smith's office at Signal Tree Publishing commanded an impressive view of Lake Ontario. The offices were in Queen's Quay, on the Toronto waterfront.

Across the hall from Juliet's office, was a similar suite. It was currently occupied by an Irish ex-pat named Niamh Salter, who was a textbook editor. "Neave," was the phonetic pronunciation of her given name, which left Juliet marvelling yet again at the variety and complexity of language.

The office had formerly been occupied by Juliet's younger brother, Erwin. Erwin had been brilliant at managing talent. He'd been executive editor for a handful of emerging Canadian novelists, including the upstart rural writer, Churchill Smith.

A smile touched Juliet's artfully glossed lips. _Levi._

Though the office walls at Signal Tree were sturdy enough, they'd barely contained the tantrums Levi Ackerman had thrown in that office. These had consisted of thumps, barks and Levi's own hoarse take on the words, "Fuck this!"

The North American audience had devoured Levi's first novel, _The Stone Chapel_ , a Salinger-esque coming-of-age tale that was frank, lewd and heartbreaking.

 _Rain on Roots_ had been harder to bring to market. Erwin had died, leaving both Levi and Juliet raw and disoriented. The light had gone out of Levi, and with it the will to fight Juliet the way he'd sparred with Erwin. In the ensuing void, Juliet Smith had done her best work, preserving the flavour, intent and flow of Levi's manuscript.

 _Rain on Roots_ , the semi-fictional story of Kenny and Linwood Ackerman, two carnies who traversed North America in the eighties, had not performed strongly in North America. Australian readers had loved it however, and a film option had been offered. Levi had dismissed it out of hand, unable and unwilling to move forward without Erwin.

Then, several weeks ago, Juliet Smith had received a text from Levi out of the blue: _I have something. I'm sending it._

Juliet smiled, absently brushing at a wisp of blonde hair that had escaped it's french knot.

She depressed a button on her desk.

"Martin?" her British accent denoted Brighton, "Would you sort out a tea service for me please, cups and saucers?"

"Sure thing," her assistant responded.

Juliet Smith rose, buttoned her smart tweed blazer, and ventured out into the waiting room to collect her visitor.

__________

Lindsay Airport hanger was a seething hive of activity. The third phase of Greenspace's initiative, trial preparation, was underway.

Hartley Bodt, prosecuting attorney of the class action lawsuit, roamed the facility. He barked questions, held impromptu meetings at the Greenspace central table and sent paralegals scurrying like squirrels.

To Armin's mind, Mr. Bodt was a chaotic and random element in his well-ordered world, and he was rattled. Mr. Bodt phoned Armin, even from across the hangar sometimes, verbally demanding information that resided on different systems, managed by different people, without delay. He would only suffer short, thirty-second explanations from Armin, eschewing the young researcher's pie-charts and data overlays.

Mr. Bodt also helped himself to Armin's notes, leafing through them, brown eyes sharp and a pen clenched between his teeth.

"I-I can make a copy of that for you…." Armin had also developed a stammer in front of the head litigator that annoyed him to no end.

He'd watched with interest and smug satisfaction as Hanji Zöe had finally curtailed the blustery lawyer, chest out and red topknot rising like a rooster's crest. She clearly, and rather loudly, detailed the complications of breaching process and protocol.

"Fuck," Armin had groused to Connie Springer under his breath, "Every time he comes over here, I'm soup. I can't think on my feet when someone's barking at me and pawing through my stuff..."

"Yeah, you can," Connie frowned. "You always do."

"I do?" Armin poked suspiciously at a misshapen Raisinette on his desk.

"I stutter," he griped. "M-m-mister Bodt…"

Connie snickered. "Oh, get over yourself! How about my report?" He furrowed his brow in exaggerated imitation of the lawyer: "Hey! You! Rat boy! How menneh rats expired with protroooding tongues?"

Armin pressed his lips together to suppress a chuckle. "Rat boy!"

"Relax," Connie flicked the Raisinette with his pen, "Hanji's been doing this a long time. She's what, in her fifties?"

"Actually, she's sixty-one."

"Fuck off!"

"Yeah. You'd never know it..."

"So," Connie reasoned, "there you go. You're like, what, twelve? When you've been doing this for like, decades, you'll be able to run the whole show."

Armin slid down in his seat, heart hammering.

_Decades._

_What if I can't?_

_What if I don't want to?_

__________

The waiting room at Signal Tree Publishing featured framed bookstore posters of some of it's authors: Churchill Smith, Candace Saito, Eamonn Trout.

Juliet glanced around the waiting room, frowning slightly. Her eyes returned to a trim, dark-haired man in an impeccable olive suit.

"Oh!" she gasped. She approached the man, touching his shoulder lightly. He raised his face; the same flat, wry expression she'd remembered. And then, he smiled.

"Hello, Juliet," his voice was raspy, his enunciation much improved.

"Good grief, Levi," she faced him and spoke, "I barely knew you! Please…" she gestured toward her office.

Martin had left the tea service; strong black tea and ginger biscuits.

Rather than sitting at her desk, Juliet sat in one of two leather armchairs, indicating the place opposite to Levi.

She poured tea, remembering that Levi took his black. Levi sat, legs neatly crossed, and accepted the cup and saucer. He lifted the teacup by the rim and drank carefully.

"Levi, I'm so sorry about Farlan. Really, we could have postponed this…"

Levi waved a hand at her. "Not at all. Only a few of us can be with him at one time. I welcome the break. It's…it's good to see you, Juliet."

He paused then, _How is your signing these days?_

She smiled. _Ok,_ she offered. _Not great. Erwin was better._

 _Erwin was awful_ Levi signed. _Erwin made up his own signs._

Juliet nodded, remembering. She took out her headset, placing it on her head. The headset connected wirelessly to her tablet. She had speech-to-text enabled.

"Do you mind?" she asked Levi, "I really am not as good at signing as this meeting deserves."

Her words appeared onscreen.

 _No problem_ Levi signed slowly. Then he said, "You're still publishing that ass, Eamonn Trout?"

Juliet laughed. "Eamonn Trout is the soul of the Prairies."

Levi took out his phone. "Add me?" he asked.

He joined the onscreen chat with his editor. _Bullshit,_ he typed. _He thinks he's Margaret Laurence. Overused lines of white laundry flapping against a bleak prairie landscape. Kill me._

Juliet raised a manicured brow. _I'm glad you haven't become docile, Levi. I was worried for a moment. Biscuit?_

Levi declined.

Juliet rose, scooping up a folder from her desk, resuming her seat and opening it.

Levi looked down at the page, recognizing his manuscript. Juliet had given it her first red-pen. The additions were sparse.

Their eyes met. Levi spoke. "You hate it."

"No."

"You hate it." He signed and spoke, the tablet picking up his words, with a few inaccuracies. "It's nearly void of comments. You have nothing to say about it. It doesn't work."

His eyes flashed, defensive and wary.

Juliet exhaled. Yes. Despite his polish, Levi could still be as blunt and abrasive as she remembered. She leaned forward, placing a hand on his forearm.

"Levi," she squeezed his arm, "it's brilliant."

His shoulders eased.

"It's brilliant," she repeated. "You've gotten over the dreaded second novel, and you have hit your sweet spot."

"As good as _Stone Chapel_?"

" _Stone Chapel_ was a nightmare, and you know it. Erwin saved that manuscript."

Levi's eyes dropped. "I know."

She jostled him. "But this…this is inspired. Finally, some craftsmanship from you. Honestly, there isn't much red pen, because there will be very little for me to do. The character of Avery is genius."

Levi raised his head then. His expression had softened, the corners of his mouth tugged into a secret smile, eyes warmed. "Armin," he said.

Juliet sat back, regarding him thoughtfully. Slowly she nodded. "Ah…."

"Armin," Levi said as carefully as he could. There. The first time, the tablet had recorded 'Almin'.

"Armin," Juliet repeated. "So, Avery is based on a real person."

Levi nodded. "Yes, Juliet. It's someone that I love very much."

__________

"Bel," Farlan croaked.

Isabel raised her head from the magazine she'd been reading at Farlan's bedside. "What is it?"

"Take Kiki home. Go home, to Churchfarm."

Isabel frowned. She pulled her chair closer to the side of the bed, leaning over to place a hand against Farlan's chest.

"Kiki is fine," Isabel reassured her husband. "She's with her Grandma Faye at Armin's house. She likes the snake there. I told you about it."

"Go home," he whispered.

"You stop," she chided, a lump rising in her throat. "We're not going anywhere without you. Kiki is great. I'm fine. Everybody's fine."

"I'm so tired," Farlan closed his eyes.

__________

"Mum!" Armin called across the Greenspace table at the hangar. Both Hanji and Rico Brzenska looked up.

Armin stood, scowling darkly at the mess around him.

"Grumpy pants," Hanji teased.

"Well, _fuck_ ," Armin flung his arms out. "It looks like a hurricane hit this place. Hurricane Hartley."

The three of them were alone in the hangar, having sent the remaining staff into Lindsay for the evening to have dinner and downtime.

Hanji pushed her eyeglasses onto the top of her head. "What's gotten into you? Hartley Bodt is not the first litigator we've ever prepped for. And he is our client."

"I just don't understand how he gets anything _done_. His process is so scattered."

"Everyone has different work styles," Rico said equably. "He's a classic extravert. He processes information verbally."

"We are scientists," Armin's tone remained snippy. "There is a sequence and a chain of custody for a reason. What next, are we letting him into the chat forum?"

"Armin, go get some dinner." Hanji closed her eyes against her mounting frustration.

"No, I'll finish what I'm working on…" Armin plopped himself down.

He took a deep, centering breath. An image of Levi drawing long, relaxing breaths as he straddled Armin, flashed across his mind's eye. Levi, riding him slowly, whining and losing control as he discovered the sensations that Armin's hard, curved cock produced…

"Armin!"

His head flew up.

"Finish compiling September soil readings for Church River and Norold. Thom did Wapassing."

"Yes, sorry…" he said quietly, shifting in his chair to dull the ache between his legs.

He tapped through the index in front of him. "Where are the soil analyses from Sept. 1 thru 15?" he asked. "All I can see is the batch from Sept. 16 thru 30?"

"On my laptop," Hanji didn't look up. She jerked her head toward the Macbook at the end of the table.

Armin opened the laptop. Hanji's home screen was chaotic; hundreds of files in icon format set against an image of a Cessna cockpit.

"Fuck sakes," he groused. He scanned the files, then gave up and searched the word, 'September'. He switched the search to column format. There.

He scrolled down, stopping to toggle an audio file. It was simply labelled, _'September 2001 - Peanut'._ Peanut had been his babyhood nickname.

He looked up. Rico was speed walking across the hanger, slurping from a coffee cup at the same time. Hanji bent over the table, one knee on her chair, scrawling something in a notepad.

Armin opened his mouth to ask her a question. He shut it. Then, he double-clicked on the audio file.

A three-second delay, and then a recording began to play. A muted background roar, like a waterfall. Distant, distressed voices. Then, a deep, familiar voice. It was Ansel Arlert's voice and it jolted Armin breathless:

 _"Hi Peanut…"_ Ansel said, _"This is daddy, and I want to say goodbye…"_

__________

Levi had gone to see his publisher. Faye was at Armin's yellow house with Kiki. That night, only Isabel and Gideon attended Farlan's bedside.

This wasn't ideal for Isabel; she needed her own dad, Springer. Or Levi, her 'big brother'. Or really anyone except Gideon, whose terror was so palpable that Isabel was sure it was infecting Farlan.

"Nothing," Levi had said to Gideon, when they'd last been together, "Nothing is worse than a parent losing a child." They'd locked eyes for a long moment, in a familiar manner that Isabel labelled 'their drama'. Some unspoken understanding had passed between them. Gideon had reached out, clasping Levi's forearm.

Farlan's breathing had slowed. There was a squeak in his chest, like he'd swallowed a dog toy. A-hee…a-hee…

Gideon had begun to pace.

"Dad," Isabel admonished gently.

She turned on the little TV set. "Look dad," she said gently. "Nascar. Sit and watch the race."

She rubbed Farlan's chest gently. He was painfully thin, his sternum jutting like a walnut beneath her fingers.

Gideon sat down, his lips still working nervously in prayer, eyes furtive.

Isabel placed her forearm on the bedrail, and her chin on her arm. Her eyes watched the steady blip-blip-blip of Farlan's heart monitor.

_How come nobody in this school is his girlfriend? He's so damn cute, she'd wondered at sixteen. She was the new girl, with the flame-red hair. The girls liked her blinged-up phone and admired her cheerleading skills honed in football-mad America. Farlan had an alt metal band with his friends Bertl and Annie called DeadBone. He had platinum streaks in his light brown hair and a tongue ring. Why doesn't he have a girlfriend? Wonder if he likes red-haired girls…_

The blips got fainter…an alarm sounded...

"Dad!" Isabel's head shot up, "Dad, get the doctor!"

The line on the monitor flattened out, like the horizon of the top field at Churchfarm in winter.

__________

"Not long," Levi told Juliet. "It's only been seven months. But the circumstances - for all of us - have been unusual. Confusing, and upsetting. Such a time brings people closer together…there is no room for artifice. No time for games. Armin is - and I have written him as such - frank and transparent, awkward and tender."

"Well," Juliet poured another cup of tea for Levi, "I am happy for you. You look...contented, despite everything. Levi, Signal Tree wants to make you an offer. I want you and I to work together on this. Are you interested?"

"Yes," Levi was emphatic.

"I will warn you," Juliet smirked, "I'm not a pushover like my brother."

Levi smiled, bittersweet.

"Have you got a working title?"

" _Spring Thaw_ ," Levi nodded. "It's called, _Spring Thaw_."

The two of them sat, companionably, sipping tea. Levi examined a few pages, looking at Juliet's notes.

"Juliet," his voice had tightened.

"Yes?"

"Juliet," his eyes brimmed with tears, "Was I a complete shit?"

Juliet laughed then, her entire face lighting up.

"Oh, Levi…" she shook her head. "You wanted so badly for us all to think that you were. A sulky, dark little rent-boy that had our Erwin by the balls. You spent the first year I knew you in slashed jeans and tattered, fingerless gloves and day-old eyeliner. You were saucy and arrogant and _enraged_."

Levi nodded sadly.

"But Levi…you had no choice, my dear. Really, you didn't. Being born into a prearranged life is a curse of sorts. Galoshes and bingo and tractors were anathema to you. You were a terrible fit, and anything less than rage would have been capitulation. You've had to fight, in order to flourish as a writer, and also as a farmer."

"I loved Erwin. Perhaps it never showed, but I did…"

"I had no idea what to think of the two of you at first. I suppose I'd imaged Erwin ending up with a sturdy, safe lump of a man called George or something. With sweater-vests and a leash for his cat…"

Levi laughed.

"He was so besotted with you…but, over time, I saw changes in both of you. You were very, very protective when he was ill. Do you remember coming to my house for Christmas Tea? The house on Bedford Road?"

Levi nodded.

"Your nemesis Eamonn Trout was a guest as well. You spent most of the evening sparring with him over one point or another. Eamonn had brought a trifle that he'd made, only the cream had soured. You knew how sick soured cream would have made Erwin…"

"Oh, yeah…" Levi exhaled, chagrined. "I remember now…"

"You stood up, pounded on the table and cursed in your - semi-intelligible at that time - language, opened the front door and hurled the trifle out onto Bedford Road like a shotput, followed by Mr. Trout himself."

Levi dropped his head into his hands. "Oh my lord, was that love?"

"Later that night, you sat on my settee with Erwin, curled into his arm and doing the New York Times crossword. You made him tea and a gluten-free mug cake, so that he wouldn't miss out on dessert. You did, Levi, everything a person could do, for a loved one…"

Juliet flapped her hand in the air, reaching for a kleenex. "Oh there, look! Now you've got me started!" She blew her nose delicately, recovering herself.

 _Thank you,_ Levi signed carefully, _I needed to hear this._

 _You're welcome,_ Juliet Smith signed back.

"Juliet?" Levi asked, "There is one more thing you can do for me…"

__________

 _"Hi Peanut…"_ Ansel said, _"This is daddy, and I want to say goodbye…"_

Armin leapt back from the laptop several feet, his wheeled chair skidding across the floor.

_"There are a few things that I need you to know Armin…so listen carefully…"_

Rico dropped her paper coffee cup to the cement floor with a splat.

"Armin!" Hanji cried.

"Han, no!" Rico reached her wife in a few short strides, embracing her from behind. "Han, let it go! Let him hear it…"

"No…"

"Han…yes. It's okay…it's okay…"

Armin stood, shaking, heart thudding in his chest. The voice brought back to him Ansel's smell - engine oil and patchouli and wet wool - his huge bearhugs, his even, square teeth. The long, brown mane and thick eyebrows.

"Dad..."

_Don't think of today as my last day…think of it as your first day. It's the first day of a grand adventure, and when I go to sleep with mummy, I will dream about you…_

"Mum!" Armin gasped, tears spilling, betrayal rising like bile. _"Mum, what…is this?"_

_…I will dream about your life…all the things you will do and see. What you will learn. The people you will love…_

"Armin, wait…Shut it off for a moment!" Hanji implored.

Armin ripped the laptop from it's power cord and ran into the bunk room with it, locking the metal door.

Shaking, he opened the laptop, accessed it's settings and locked Hanji out of the device. He uploaded the audio clip to his cloud account, so that no one could take it away again.

Then, he sat on the bed, knees curled up to his chest, and started listening to the recording again, from the beginning.

__________

It was a moment Isabel would remember for the rest of her life; being nudged out of the triage unit as a team of doctors and nurses began CPR on Farlan. Gideon wept, lost and bereft.

Isabel looked up as the elevator doors opened, and there was her dad, Springer. "Daddy!"

Springer reached her, pulling her into his arms. "Let them do their thing," he said into her hair. "It's okay, Bel…"

She raised her head. "I won't leave him alone if he goes," she wiped her eyes, "Farlan, I'm right here! You hear me?"

The doctors had tilted Farlan's head back and were sticking a tube down his throat. His body heaved. He coughed. The monitor blipped, and began to pulse.

Isabel exhaled. "Farlan Emory Church, you scare me like that again, I'm gonna kill you myself!"

__________

That evening, a nurse escorted Isabel into a small conference room. There she was joined by Faye and Gideon, Greer and her husband Ian Tang, and Ian's brother Alex, who was the hospital's ombudsman.

The head of epidemiology addressed the family. She passed Isabel an image of what looked like a squid, with bubbles attached to it.

"What on earth is it?" she'd asked.

"This," said the doctor, "is a picture of the mycobacterium that is responsible for Farlan's infection. It's a new mutation, altered by other factors in the soil, as well as by herbicides. It's a match to bacteria we were able to type from a dental sample provided by Mrs. Bossard. It's also been identified in Kyle Puckett and Edwina Church. We've adjusted Farlan's antibiotic. It will be touch-and-go tonight, but I believe we'll soon be out of the woods.

Isabel glared at the squid, and then looked up. "Don't you lie to me," she warned, "that'd be an awful thing to do to a person…"

"We are confident," the doctor replied, "that we can resolve this. The key was in material extracted from Auruo Bossard's teeth. We can't call it a complete regional resolution, but it will play a huge role."

"Can I see him?" Isabel stood, smiling through her tears, "I want to see my husband, please."

__________

A flight plan for Greenspace Cessna Skyhawk H2127 was filed with the CAA at 20:17 on September 29th, 2016. The document was filed by newly-minted small aircraft pilot Armin Arlert.

Rico Brzenska stepped into Hangar Three. Armin was performing a pre-flight check, walking briskly around the Cessna, opening and slamming hatches, tapping into his tablet. He wore a beaten-up brown bomber that had belonged to Rico, a wool cap and cargo pants. His mood was difficult to gauge at a distance.

"Armin?"

He whirled. "Why?" He face was blotchy and red, his eyes swollen. He walked around the plane, carefully tightening the lower hatch. He stooped beneath it, taking a few steps toward Rico, and signing furiously as he asked again: "Why?"

She waited.

"That message…" his voice was raw from weeping, "That message was mine. _Mine to know!_ Mine to carry with me, in my heart. It was not her right to keep it from me!"

Armin jabbed the tire pressure gauge into the valve of the aircraft's tire, recording the result.

He stomped out from beneath the plane. "That was my father! My dad! I don't care that all of you thought you owned a piece of him, as though he was some...some god of the ozone layer. He was my dad!" Armin slapped a fist to his chest fiercely.

Rico approached casually.

Armin leapt up onto the steel ladder, poking at the plane's radio antenna. He thumbed it carefully.

"Do you know…what it's like to live in the shadow of someone larger than life? To love such a person and feel so small beside them?"

"As it happens," Rico said quietly, "I do."

"Oh…" Armin's shoulders sagged. He blinked. "Fuck. Sorry. Of course you do."

He examined his guardian. "What're you suited up for?"

"Coming with," said Rico.

"No," Armin shook his head. "I need time."

"Then take a bath. If you want to fly, I'm coming. Wherever you want, but I'm coming."

Armin watched her. She'd been a bush pilot for longer than he'd been alive.

"Where we going?" she asked, although she already knew.

"Cache Bay. Nipissing."

Rico smiled.

__________

Armin felt empty, as though a strong gust might blow him away, scattering him across the tarmac like dust. The smell of the hangar grounded him, and he opened his mouth, the taste metallic on his tongue.

 _'Find your own way'_ his father had encouraged, his disembodied voice calm and resolute, even as the building began to crumble.

Tears sprang to Armin's sore eyes again. "Oh, enough!" he muttered, rubbing his face on his glove.

_Good evening, Greenspace, this is Lindsay Tower, over._

"Greenspace H2127," Armin replied, snuffling loudly.

_H2127 you are cleared for takeoff, Runway One is all yours…._

The acceleration pinned Armin against his seat, as the Cessna began to climb, leaving Lindsay behind and heading into the northern Ontario bush.

________

The Cessna shimmied, nosing into a lash of rain.

"This makes things interesting," Rico grinned. She stole a sidelong glance at Armin. He was calm, focused.

"Scattered showers," Armin replied. "It said…"

"We're fifteen minutes out," Rico adjusted her seat, cleaning her eyeglasses. "You up for this?"

Armin nodded. "I've got it."

A gust jolted the small aircraft. "Yeek," Armin muttered.

Rico yawned. "Your dad always pissed himself in this weather," she smiled.

"I can't see a fucking thing," Armin squinted.

"You're good with instruments," Rico said evenly. "You want an assist, you just say the word, kiddo."

The engine coughed.

"Cache Bay, you got a table reserved for Greenspace H2127?" Rico radioed the small airport.

 _"Greenspace,"_ a bright laugh, _"H2127 you are cleared for landing. You miss me Rico?"_

"Just had a craving for a moose burger is all," Rico replied.

Armin was frowning, studying his instrument panel. "Cache Bay, how about an assist? Seeking ILS…"

The small airport's instrument landing system winked on. It allowed pilots to navigate a safe landing in poor visibility.

"Steady," Rico reassured Armin. "You got this…"

A flash of lightning shimmered across Lake Nipissing. Armin began his descent, holding the small aircraft steady.

He held his breath.

Then, the airport below was plunged into darkness.

"Pull up!" Rico barked. "Up. Hard!"

Armin yanked back on the yoke and the Cessna nosed back up into the storm.

"Cache Bay, this is H2127. What is your status?"

The radio crackled. No response. Armin wheeled over the dark water of Lake Nipissing.

"Mum," he said, he voice frightened and tight.

"Level off," Rico instructed.

The radio sprang to life. _"H2127 we have lost power. Repeat, we have no ILS for you. You're gonna have to come in on flares."_

"Roger Cache Bay," Rico responded, "Light 'em up!"

"I'm landing this plane on _flares?_ " Armin took a breath. "I…. _mum_ …"

"Yup. I've done worse. You just watch your angle and your altitude. This is what you're looking for…" Rico rhymed off the values.

Armin's belly tightened, and he tried to breathe evenly. He carefully followed her instructions.

There, below him, six impossibly tiny pink points of light.

"Fuck, I'm too high…"

"No, you're not…Easy…"

Rico had been right. The soaked tarmac rose up faster than Armin had anticipated, and he set the plane down roughly, bouncing and skidding into the grass.

 _"Jesus, H2127 that was butt-ugly,"_ came the operator's voice. _"All ok?"_

"Roger, all ok!"

Armin blinked, heart slamming in his chest. He gasped, he sobbed and then dissolved into mad laughter.

_"Oh God! Mum!"_

"You did it."

"Ree…" he began to sob then. "Ree…I…."

Armin released the yoke, cramped hands shaking. "Fuck! Yes! Yes I did!!" he cried.

He looked at her, swollen eyes blazing. "Mum. This…this is what I want to do. This is what I love! I want to fly!"

And, just like that, Armin's carefully-constructed career path broke free of it's moorings and washed away, carried by the storm into the dark depths of Lake Nipissing, leaving only peace, and possibility.

_You will find your own way. I will see you in my dreams._

 

 


	19. What The Rain Brought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Ambs...a sweet soul who nudged me through the last third of this story...with my thanks :)

The airport bar was lit with a string of hurricane lights, powered by an outdoor generator which growled like an angry bear.

Rico and Armin strode through the rain, under the eaves of the steel flatroof.

"Shaking yet?" Rico asked him.

"No," Armin frowned. Then, his legs turned to jelly. He stumbled, smiling ruefully. "Maybe..."

They ducked inside, blinking in the dim light. On the bar stood two double whiskeys, and two bottles of stout.

"Oh, Mum, I don't..."

Rico slid onto a barstool. She kissed the St. Thérèse medallion she wore around her neck, tilted her head back and downed the shot.

"Ree, I..."

"Drink it," Rico nudged the shot glass.

Armin picked it up, his trembling hand splashing the contents onto the bar.

Rico leaned on one elbow, watching him. "You're alright," she kicked him gently.

Armin swallowed, the whiskey burning his throat like paint thinner.

"That'll put hair on your chest," a bright voice remarked.

Armin blinked. A young woman stood behind the bar. Her hair was coiled into two knobs atop her head. She had keen eyes and wore a frayed fisherman's sweater over a grey tank top. An RAF medallion swung from her slender neck.

"Are you responsible for that appalling landing?" she asked Armin.

His ears were burning from the whiskey. "You're English," he noted.

"Good ear. I'm Ambs," she stuck out a neat hand.

"Ambs..." Armin took a slurp of stout. "I...am Armin Arlert."

Ambs glanced sidelong at Rico. "I know that," she said. "Your...Rico nearly hit a moose her first blacked-out landing..."

"That's enough, Ambs!" Rico flapped a hand.

"It's true," Ambs walked down the bar, pouring a coffee for a stout, silent figure at the end of the bar. "She also took out Peter House's metal shed."

Armin snorted in amusement. "Really?"

"Yes. Putting down in an ice storm is pretty hellish."

Armin squinted. "I haven't seen you here before. Do you fly?"

The young woman placed the coffee in front of her patron and returned. "Nah," she said. "I'm a junker. A mechanic. I live in Thunder Bay. Working down here for the winter."

"Oh?"

"You want to sell me the rest of that Cessna in the field?" Ambs asked.

Armin's eyes widened. "It isn't wrecked!" He looked at Rico in mild panic.

Rico laughed, cleaning her round spectacles on her shirt.

Ambs raised one eyebrow at Armin. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she smiled slowly.

She refilled Armin's shot glass. "You did a decent job of bringing her down," Ambs admitted. "You blew a tire, that's all. We can have it ship-shape for tomorrow."

"How's your wife, Rico?" asked the coffee drinker at the end of the bar.

Rico leaned against the back of her barstool. "Toma. You remember Armin?"

The figure drew back her hood, revealing a side-shaved head, with a compass tattoo. She turned, fixing Armin with dark eyes.

"This isn't the little boy with the blue coat?"

"The very same," Rico said, a touch proudly. "Armin, this is Toma Charles."

Toma nodded her head.

"You're a pilot," Armin deduced.

Toma took a swallow of coffee. "I fly out of Muskrat Dam," she said.

"Muskrat Dam!" Armin leaned forward. "I've never flown that far north."

Toma shifted her bulk, standing and approaching them. She took a seat on the other side of Armin. She leaned forward, studying the young man.

"You must be about twenty-two years old, now."

"Twenty-four," said Armin.

"Your mum here, she lived up in Muskrat Dam for four years," Toma said. "with me."

Armin turned his head, looking from one woman to the other. "She misses me," the Cree pilot smiled, revealing a small gold eyetooth.

"Toma," Ambs called, "If you can get out of here in the dark, Thunder Bay airport's looking to fly two doctors out, to Moosonee..."

Toma Charles stood. Then, she leaned over and kissed Armin's rounded forehead. "Whatever's making you so sad," she said, "It will pass."

She grasped Rico's forearm. "You have a change of heart?" her eyes twinkled.

Rico shook her head, grinning. "Nah, Toma...not even a little bit."

"She doesn't share, huh?" Toma Charles winked, and went out into the storm.

Rico turned, to find Armin gawping at her. She touched his cheek. "I know," she quipped. "It's too strange to think of your parents having a _life_ , before you were a part of it."

"She was your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"She likes you, still." Armin said, a tad huffily.

"Can you blame her?"

" _Ew, mum!_ I don't want to know!"

"Yes, you do."

"Okay, yes I do. Tell me all about Muskrat Dam..."

_________

Armin knocked on the door of Hanji's makeshift office, in Hangar Two at Lindsay Airport.

Hanji looked up. She studied her son. Purple shadows nested beneath his eyes, but his expression was oddly tranquil.

She pushed her glasses onto the top of her head. "Armin," she said gently, "I'm expecting someone for a job interview."

He compressed his lips together. "Actually, um, I'm the person you're expecting..."

"I know that," she said softly.

"How?"

Hanji picked up the resume on her desk. "Mr. E. A. Poe? Really?"

Armin shrugged. He entered the office, closing the door.

The closer he got, the sharper the broken-glass pangs in her chest. "Armin...."

"Please," he whispered. "Can we not jump into the deep end, just yet?"

She nodded, studying him, her face tight and mournful.

"Mum, I've done alot of thinking..."

"You smell like a moonshine still,"

"I blew clean before I flew."

"You came down on flares. In Cache Bay."

Armin nodded, an odd light springing into his eyes. "I needed Rico, though. If she hadn't been there..."

"I know," Hanji's tone hardened. She exhaled slowly.

"Mum, I'm going to tell you something without any preamble. I want to apply for the job you're interviewing for today."

Hanji looked down at the resume. "Team Lead, Ontario North."

"Yes," Armin nodded.

"The position entails..."

"...fieldwork," Armin finished, "Technical analysis. Supervising field teams."

She gave him a long, measured look. "And a lot of flying..."

"Yes," he nodded, sliding forward on the chair, hands on his knees. "A _lot_ of flying. Thunder Bay. James Bay. Moose Factory."

"Not easy to manage, from Toronto."

"No," he dropped his eyes, steeling himself. "No mum, not easy from Toronto. But doable from Church River."

"Church River..." she repeated, nodding slowly. "Ah."

"Mum. I want to fly. Like you and Rico did at my age."

She nodded, a small, bittersweet smile playing at her lips.

Armin placed a folder onto her desk.

"What's this?"

He swallowed. "It's a proposal. Having to do with Greenspace."

She opened the folder.

"I was thinking about...a cooperative. A coop. You know...where the pilots, the techs...all of us, can own a piece of our company. Instead of...instead of having me as a major shareholder. It would be for...for everyone that loves this company."

Hanji steepled her fingers, regarding him. "Sweetheart. Armin. Is this about Church River? The apple orchard? Levi?...is it about what Ansel left..." and she conceded: "for you?"

Armin hugged his forearms against his body and turned his head. "All of that. And none of it. It's about realizing how short, and how unpredictable life is. It's about my mum and dad. And about Erwin Smith. And Auruo Bossard. And Kuchel Church. The only thing I know how to do well...is to be Armin, not Ansel..." he choked then, tears brimming and spilling over. "I need to figure me out."

Hanji sat, watching her boy break, so that a man might emerge in his wake. And she knew exactly what he needed in that moment.

"I will give you a six-month trial, as Team Lead, Ontario North. And I will table your proposal."

He nodded.

"Armin," she said, "we need to talk..."

"I know," he swiped at his eyes. "I can't do all of this at once...can we meet later?"

She rose, "Of course..."

He nodded, backing out of the room, not ready to accept her embrace.

__________

At a downtown Toronto courthouse, a chime signalled, indicating precisely twelve noon. Elbow Lake Police Constable Ymir Crow checked her watch, as she leaned against a wall in the marbled corridor.

Noon. Her eyes flicked left and right, watchful. So many people in Toronto; the city seethed with them, rushing here and there, up and down stairs, packing themselves into elevators and subway trains. The pace was frenetic.

On a padded bench outside of one of the courtrooms, two girls sat, holding hands, their young faces tense. Ymir studied them discreetly. What would it be like, to live in the city, with another woman? What was it like to work in law enforcement, down here? She shifted, crossing one booted leg over the other. And waited.

At twelve forty-five, with a chuckle and a clamour, Kenny Ackerman burst through the courtroom door out into the hall, with Zeke Jaeger in his wake.

Grinning demonically, he held up both wrists, free of restraints.

Ymir was loathe to admit that a wave of relief washed over her.

"Free, huh?" she dislodged herself from the wall.

"Yes siree, free as a dickey bird!" Kenny crowed. Zeke Jaeger handed a docket stub to Ymir.

"Well," she mused, reading it over. "Not exactly. In exchange for your testimony in the class action and Crown lawsuits, you've gotten a reduced sentence. Two years' parole..."

Kenny snorted, flapping a dismissive hand at her.

"Two years parole...nine months of curfew...." Kenny yanked up his trouser leg, exposing an electronic ankle monitor.

"And..." she squinted, reading through the following page.

"I'll save you the trouble," Kenny said, "It says I got to work with an auditor. A government auditor. My business is a good business, like I've always said - from day one I said that - so this auditor will make sure I keep dotting my 'i's and crossing my 't's, while the province legalizes cannabis...the guy will come up to Elbow Lake for a couple years...to work as my partner. From the government. A Mr. Rice, it says."

"Reiss," Ymir corrected, not looking up from the form, "Not Rice, idiot. Miss Historia Reiss."

"Lemme see that!" Kenny grabbed the form.

"I'll go get the car," Zeke tapped Kenny on the arm, anxious to escape the stranglehold of the city.

"Miss," Ymir smirked, "It's a _woman_. Miss Reiss."

"Good afternoon!" 

Ymir turned. A girl was addressing her. No - not a girl - rather a petite woman, with a blond topknot, wearing jeans, a button-down shirt and the smallest workboots Ymir had ever seen.

"Reiss," the woman introduced herself. "Historia Reiss. You must be Constable Crow," a small, square hand was stuck out, which Ymir accepted.

"And you," the auditor turned toward Kenny Ackerman, "You are Kenny Ackerman. You have a three-stage grow-op, sixteen species of cannabis, seven-hundred plants, in raised irrigation troughs."

"I...uh...well...."

"Good!" Historia continued brightly, "Excellent. I am going to introduce you to some new hybrids from Indo-China. Ever heard of Vietnamese green goddess?" She pushed a folder into Kenny's hapless hands.

"How are you preparing your prescriptions, currently?" she continued excitedly, "Are you offering gluten-free consumables? What about vegan options? Here, take a look at this!" she added more reading material.

Then, she stood on her toes, stuck her piquant face into Kenny's, nearly beneath the rim of his hat.

"Mr. Ackerman," she breathed excitedly, "have you considered the possibilities of....solar energy?"

"Uh..." Kenny grunted.

"Very well," she turned, "Let's be on our way. We've got lots to do, Mr. Ackerman!"

She led the way down the hall. Kenny Ackerman turned to Ymir, utterly flummoxed.

Ymir laughed. " _Mr. Rice,_ " she snickered. "Looks like you got your hands full, boss!"

She gazed wistfully after the little auditor. The tiny boots had softened something inside of her. She resolved to keep an eye on Kenny's operation rather closely.

To ensure he respected the terms of his parole, of course.

__________

Eren Jaeger slowed Checkers to a walk, in front of the south barn. A fine, cold rain was beginning, and thunderheads piled on the horizon, barrelling east from Georgian Bay. He regarded the herd, considering.

Then, a fork of lightning split the sky.

Armin, watching from the chapel's kitchen window, scrambled into his rain pants and coat. He ran outside, fumbling for the ATV keys.

Eren nodded to him. "I couldn't decide whether the girls should be in or out...but..."

"Lightning," Armin nodded, "Let's get them in."

Armin went into the south barn, activating the doors so that the herd could find their way inside.

The rain began to lash down, in earnest. "You got them?" Eren yelled.

"Yeah!"

"Jean is up with the sheep. I'm going to the north barn. He won't be able to get Remus in by himself..."

"Ok, go," Armin waved a hand at Eren as he wheeled away on Checkers.

Two of the cows were perilously close to calving. One wouldn't be coaxed upright until Armin offered a glove smeared with mineral treat.

Some time later, he slammed back into the porch of the chapel, squirming out of his rain gear. He took out his phone, pecking a text to Jean.

"Armin!"

"Gah!" he jumped. "Mum. Jesus."

"The door was open," Hanji stood in the small kitchen, clutching a mug of tea.

"Is it two already?" Armin asked.

Hanji nodded.

Armin sniffed loudly, tearing off a paper towel to blow his nose. He stared out of the window, watching rain pelt the north field, the trees bending and lashing.

"I made tea," Hanji said quietly.

Armin turned and regarded her. She was bundled in a chunky sweater Rico had made, faded jeans and her hair was loose. She looked smaller than she did in a lab coat; softer, and older.

"Sit," he invited her.

"Is something the matter outside?"

He smiled. "Nope. Just you know...farm storm stuff..."

"No, I really don't know."

Armin sat down, fixing Hanji with a penetrating stare.

She began to speak. "I met your father in college."

"I know."

"I met him in college. He was undertaking a Masters in Environmental Science. He was defending his thesis in an open forum. I was on the student panel. I tore him to shreds."

Armin waited in stony silence.

"He faced me, leaning forward, focused. 'Why?' he asked me, when I challenged him. He wasn't arrogant; he was openly curious. I offered more information. Again: 'Why?' And then: 'What's the alternative?'

The presentation devolved into a dialogue. It carried on, out into the hallway, outside onto the campus quad and back to his bizarre, booby-trapped apartment. He refused to let me go until he had probed and picked and ingested everything that I had to say. He scribbled, nodded and sketched, eyes burning.

This young man with the crazy Jesus-hair had absolutely no sense of himself, seemed to care nothing for the grade, nor for the degree. These tools were simply a means to an end. He had a vision..."

Hanji took a long, slow swallow of tea. "I loved him."

"I know."

"No, you don't. I loved him more than I ever loved anybody. It wasn't romance. It wasn't fraternal. I gave up many years ago, trying to put that love into a box. Ansel was the closest thing to a soulmate I can possible imagine."

"What about Ree?" Armin's voice was small and tight.

"What about her? What about Maryann? A soulmate isn't the same thing as a life partner. Although I'm sure those lines do cross, for some people. I believe...I still believe...that Ansel and I were brought together to do the work we did, to the best of our ability. It seemed, sometimes, like we were one entity."

"Armin..." she reached out a hand. He slid his arm off the table.

"Honey. I'm sorry that my decision hurt you so badly. I'm sorry that you got your dad's message so many years after he left it for you. And so abruptly."

Armin, at length, looked at her.

"When you were little, I told you that you were going to be okay. Remember?"

A small nod.

"I told you that. The truth was that you were a very fragile, angry and lost little boy. You were not okay at all. There were weeks when you refused to speak. Fights. Bullying. Tantrums. My heart just broke for you. Do you remember going to speak to the therapist?"

"I don't know. Not really."

"None of the adults that loved you - Lorne included - thought that a troubled little boy of nine years old should hear that recording."

"So, it was Grandpa's decision?"

"No," she said with finality. "It was mine."

Armin's phone buzzed. He glanced at the message and then turned the phone over.

"The summer of 2002, you went to the farm. You played with your cousins. Ree was there too, remember?"

"I don't know, mum."

Hanji leaned forward, bracing her arms on the table. She took a breath. "I wasn't there."

She paused. "Armin, there were more messages from your dad. And I was on the phone with him...in his last moments."

"What do you mean?"

Hanji gritted her teeth, fighting tears. "Your mum went first. They were in a very small space. There were fumes. She just went to sleep. So dad and I talked..."

Armin froze. He watched Hanji.

"The following day, I found more messages on my private line."

"What did they say?"

Hanji shook her head sadly. "Just what you'd imagine. They're unbearable. I wanted so badly to trade places with Ansel. I knew he was trying to make every second, every breath count...but honestly...I can't decide to this day if those messages were brave...or if they were unintentionally cruel...a legacy that no loved one should ever have to bear witness to. That day, a part of me died also.

I tried my best to do exactly as Ansel had asked, and take care of you. But I found myself unable to...Meals weren't getting made properly. I couldn't go to work. Then I couldn't get out of bed at all. I couldn't shower..." she trailed off, watching the rain batter the gothic-arched window.

"Mum..." Finally, Armin reached across the table. "Mum, I'm okay, now."

Hanji nodded. "Yes, you are," she smiled through her tears. "You are so much more than okay. You are thriving. And I could not bring myself to jeopardize your stability. You knew how much your parents loved you. It was too hard for me to give you that message...I was never certain that it was the right choice. I worried that it would harm you, so I did nothing."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Finally, Armin did. "Dad's words set me free. I have been struggling. I want to make a difference and be a part of all of this...but not as a CEO. I'm not Ansel Arlert. I'm not like him, and in the same vein, I'm not like you, either. If a comparison is essential, I suppose I'm most like Rico."

Hanji nodded. "I understand now. Perhaps...now was the right time for that message."

"Perhaps it was," Armin said. "The other messages?"

"Gone. I will tell you that he was very brave and that...." she stopped, pressing her lips together for composure, tears spilling, "and that, he was at peace - he knew he'd done as much as he could, in the time that was given to him."

Armin rose, walked slowly around the table and sat beside her. She embraced him finally, dropping her face onto the pale head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Me, too."

The rain subsided, and the sky over Churchfarm blazed pink-orange as the sun set. Hanji and Armin sat on the chapel steps, side by side.

Jean Kirschstein met the dairy truck. Kawartha Dairy had a new driver, who was able to perform the minor miracle of avoiding the driveway fencepost as he backed up to the huge, stainless-steel silo.

Eren returned from the north field and got out the ATV and it's wagon, toting feed from the south barn to the north barn.

"It is beautiful here," Hanji conceded.

Armin looked across the orchard, to the cordoned-off work area containing Erwin Smith's A-frame house.

"Over at the Smith house we will undertake soil cleaning, in-situ. I think we can save the foundation. The contaminant profile is different than at Boyd Ral's place, and at the west side of this farm." he looked at Hanji.

"I'm going to make an offer on it, the orchard and the building."

Hanji took this in, considering. "Armin," she said gently, "just bear in mind...you haven't known the Church's for long. They're family. You are new..."

"I am," Armin understood her meaning, "I am, and I'm not. I may be an Arlert, but I'm also a Peddle. I'm Lorne Peddle's grandson and Maryann Peddle's kid. My aunt Viv and Kuchel Church and Faye Hawley were best friends. Rey Joice is my uncle, by marriage. I belong in Church River, as much as anyone."

She pulled him close, kissing his forehead. "I will miss you so much..."

"I'll see you all the time, still."

"It's not the same. You're flying the nest."

"Yeah."

"Say...did you see Toma Charles up in Cache Bay?"

Armin's mouth quirked in a smile. "Uh...yes, actually?"

"She still got that gold tooth? Did she tell you I'm the one that knocked it out?"

"Mum, stop!" Armin chuckled.

________________

_Open the door!_

Levi opened one eye. He'd fallen asleep in the living room chair in the yellow house. It had been a long day in court with his Uncle Kenny. His iWatch indicated two a.m.

The watch buzzed again, showing a text. _Open the door!! Open the DOOR LEVI!!_

He shook his head, and then, with a start, realized what was going on. "Huh!" he got up, padded into the hallway and unbolted the oak door.

Armin Arlert, soaking wet and freezing, threw himself into Levi's embrace. Levi staggered backward, gripping the ebony-eyed snake bannister to steady himself.

_Armin. Armin was home._

He tugged at the raincoat, freeing Armin, pulling him close, burying his face in his boy's neck.

Armin said something, buzzing against Levi's neck. Levi didn't know what, and for the moment, he didn't care. He kicked the oak door shut and stumbled into the living room, Armin in his arms.

After a long moment, he raised his head, cupping Armin's face. He frowned; Armin's eyes held a strange mixture of pain and peace.

"I'm okay," Armin mouthed. "It's okay. I have so much to tell you..."

Levi nodded. "Me, too..."

"Later.."

Armin shut his eyes. His body began to relax, and he melted against Levi.

 

_I'm home. Home is where you are..._

__________

"I," Levi said with determination, "I will _have you_ on this teeny, tiny bed...if it's the last thing I do..."

Armin laughed as Levi hauled him across the little twin bed that he'd occupied since boyhood. Armin twisted until he was on his back, his dark-haired lover on top of him.

"How do you sleep in this teeny fucking bed?" Levi wondered

"I stay very still," Armin chuckled. He raised a leg, trying to pull off his own sock.

Little red socks, Levi signed, adding something incredibly lewd at the end. He lowered himself onto his elbows, his face inches from Armin's. His expression softened. "So pretty..."

"Ugh." Armin scowled.

"Pretty," Levi insisted. With a finger, he brushed the hair out of Armin's face. He traced the thick, straight brows, the dark sweep of lashes. There was a tiny pock-mark on one of Armin's eyelids. Two small freckles on his lower lip. A few hopeful rough patches on his cheeks, striving to form a full beard, without success.

They lay on their sides in the narrow bed, facing one another, naked except for Armin's red socks. Levi pulled Armin close, fitting his body to Armin's, pressing his hips forward. Armin raised a leg in response, draping it over Levi's waist. His lips parted, breath warm against Levi's cheek.

Levi brushed a kiss against Armin's temple where the skin was damp and sweet. He paused, nuzzling, savouring the tension building between them. He reached down, hand cupping one rounded ass cheek. So unbearably soft. He squeezed.

Levi turned his head just enough to kiss Armin. He connected with a wet, open mouth, hot as tea. He kissed Armin hungrily, fingers caressing the boy's beautiful ass in slow, lazy circles.

Armin rocked his hips, moaning softly into Levi's mouth when Levi slipped a lubed finger inside of him.

Levi grew still, heart slamming beautifully inside of his chest. The warm creature in his arms squirmed against him, then began to tremble. Levi was motionless, except for the clever finger, inching further up Armin's backside, and then disengaging.

Armin raised his head, lips ruddy and eyes narrowed.

"What?" Levi asked. "You want more?"

Armin bit his lip, eyes locked onto Levi's.

Levi eased the finger back inside of him, slowly. Armin's eyes slid shut and he groaned, pressing his bottom against Levi's hand.

"Breathe," Levi whispered.

"Huh?" Hooded eyed peered at him, through a tangle of hair.

"Breathe," Levi repeated, "Slow."

He finger-fucked Armin lazily. "I've seen you watch me ride you...take you deep...You study me through your eyelashes." He scissored his fingers gently.

Armin nodded, unable to stop his body from undulating, rubbing his erection against Levi's abdomen.

Levi took a breath into his body; slow, deep, working his diaphragm. "Breathe just like I do...very deep. From the belly...that's how you relax your back, your groin, your ass...everything."

Armin tried to slow himself down; he was panting, body tense and trembling with need. He inhaled, his abdomen pushing against Levi's, and then exhaled. His lower back seemed to unclench, his buttocks and thighs softening.

"Again...nice and slow. Don't rush yourself."

Armin inhaled, the delicious heat from the crook of Levi's neck filling his flared nostrils. As his body uncoiled, small sensations seemed to heighten; Levi stroked his balls, the calloused fingers tingling against delicate skin.

"Oh, fuck..." Armin moaned.

Levi rolled them over so that Armin was on top, straddling him. He gripped Armin's buttocks with both hands, fingers and thumb massaging the firm flesh.

Armin raised himself upward, hands splayed against Levi's chest, head tilted back. He inhaled again slowly, the breath seeming to fill his entire body, setting his skin on fire.

Levi released his grip on Armin's bottom, and then, very slowly, brushed one fingertip between the boy's cheeks, caressing the little pink pucker. The sensation was so exquisite that Armin whimpered, fingers clenching Levi's chest.

The fingertip teased, tickled and then pressed slowly into his body, sparking the tender nerves within.

"Baby..." Levi's voice thickened as he fought for control, "Silky, tight boy..."

He fingered Armin with greater urgency; two and then three digits easing him open.

"I'm...I...Leviiii...." Armin pleaded.

Levi steadied his lover's hips, twisting slightly and grasping a condom packet. He raised Armin up on his knees, peering down between Armin's legs at his own engorged cock, throbbing like a toothache. He rolled the condom onto his member slowly, the merest touch making it twitch. He smiled wryly.

Armin gazed down at him, eyes dilated indigo. His features had slackened, baby-sweet. Levi's fingertips grazed his bottom, raising gooseflesh.

Armin raised his hands, signing slowly, the physical language raw and beautiful...

_I need you...I love you...my heart needs you...my body needs you...I.....please, Levi..._

Levi grasped Armin's hips, lowering him slowly, pressing the head of his cock into the impossibly silky heat.

Armin shuddered; for the first time, his relaxed body accepted the intrusion, without pain. Levi's cock filled him, and the delicious ache knotted his entire abdomen.

Levi held still, balancing on the edge of self-control.

Then, Armin began to move. He raised himself up, releasing Levi halfway, and then sank back down onto his cock with a whimper. He did so again and again, riding Levi slowly, fucking himself into utter bliss.

Levi watched Armin, fascinated. Armin's cheeks were flush, a sheen of sweat beading his forehead, belly undulating softly, his stiff, curved cock twitching for attention. 

"Fuck, you're beautiful..." Levi gritted his teeth.

Levi pressed Armin's hips back, just a fraction. Armin brought his belly lower, the base of his cock pressing against Levi's pubic bone.

Levi thrust into him then, without restraint, finding the sweet spot within and grinding against it.

Armin sobbed with pleasure, legs melted to jelly as Levi's hips slapped against his splayed groin. "It's so... _.I can't._.."

His fingers dug into Levi's chest, and Levi winced in pain. He smacked Armin's bottom sharply, the boy's face radiating only pleasure as he did so.

"My bad boy," He spanked Armin harder, and his lover began to shudder, buttocks flexing, muscles clenching tightly around Levi like a vise.

Levi himself began to unravel then. He curled his fingers around Armin's cock, tugging roughly as Armin climaxed, spilling onto Levi's hand and belly.

"Aaah..." Levi shifted, gripping Armin's hips with sticky hands. "Oh, Jesus..."

Levi rocked himself to orgasm, the pleasure so sharp it verged on pain. The sensation ebbed, and then his balls clenched as he came again, crying out hoarsely, legs scissoring against the sheets.

They lay together in the narrow bed on Armin's boyhood sheets, damp and twisted. Outside, the night sky dissolved to a grey, drizzly dawn. 

Neither spoke, loathe to burst the sweet bubble of afterglow.

Armin's fingers touched Levi's tentatively, initiating communication.

He rolled, popping sticky hands out of the bedding. _You have ruined my innocence,_   _fucking me like that, in my childhood bed,_ he signed.

Levi's mouth curled in satisfaction, _You attacked me like a mad raccoon,_ he signed cheekily. _Crazy baby._

 


	20. Through The Mist

When the summer people leave, the land heaves a sigh of relief. Brock Street is no longer clogged with SUV's and tourists meandering about in flip-flops, their little ones sporting water wings and painting themselves with soft-serve. The lake no longer buzzes day and night with motorboats, houseboats and jet-skis.

Life settles down. The frost comes. And the farmers, the backbone of rural Ontario, begin their final harvest.

__________

Tiny Kiki Church sat in her car seat, taking good care of her daddy. He sat beside her, a bony figure wrapped in a Nascar blanket. Every now and then, he'd growl and pretend to chew her button nose off with Sharkey, his rubber fish toy. She'd respond by grasping a Cheerio in her damp little hand and feeding it to him.

Under her other arm she clutched Dave, her new toy kitty from Levi. Dave was patchy, missing plush in places, and had no ears. He had a new yellow collar though, and new green glass eyes from Michael's, which Isabel had stitched into place, when she'd stopped giggling long enough to push the needle through the plush.

"I'm sorry," Levi had said sheepishly, "He's so ugly."

"He's not ugly," Isabel had promised him. "He's precious. He was yours, and your daddy gave him to you. Kiki will love him," she'd paused. "What happened to his ears?"

"I cut them off," Levi had explained simply, "he's Deaf."

The car wound through Church River, past the town hall, past Kirschstein's diner, past the library.

Farlan's eyes grew bright, and misty.

"You want Tim Horton's, babe?" Isabel was driving.

Farlan shook his head. "No, thanks...I'm good."

They took Highway 36 out of town, passing Hawley Acres. Here, Farlan, Jean and Eren would race across the frozen fields as boys, chasing one another until Gideon bellowed at them for trampling the winter wheat.

Around the bend....and there was the driveway at Churchfarm.

"Cow!" declared Kiki.

Isabel urged the car up and over the hill. And there it was. _Home._

It was nearing four; Farlan had anticipated visiting the south barn for the evening milking.

He let out a yelp of surprise. Lining the driveway, and standing on the porch of the big house, were his friends and neighbours.

They'd sewn bedsheets together and spray-painted them to make a sign, which they'd tacked up on the south barn. 'Welcome Home' it read.

"Aw geez, I don't want a fuss," Farlan whispered.

"You know how it works," Levi nodded his head.

Isabel pulled up to the front of the house. She got out, embracing her dad.

Farlan's car door opened. Jean was pulling him carefully out of his seat and into a hug.

"Asshole," Jean squeezed him tightly, voice thick with tears.

"Hey!" squeaked Kiki, wanting out of her carseat, "Hey!"

_________

Farlan and Isabel's bungalow had been razed to the ground. With it gone, there was a clear view of Hawley Acres, and the steel windmill that drove the pump which filled the cistern for the cattle.

Isabel blinked, stunned that her home had just vaporized in her absence. "Come," Levi placed an arm around her shoulders, "Come with me."

Isabel tore her gaze away from the void in the trees, and followed Levi inside. He led her upstairs. The door to the master bedroom was closed.

_Go in,_ he signed.

Isabel turned the knob and entered. She froze, a gasp stuck in her throat. All of Levi's belongings had been removed.

"Oh my Lord!" she exclaimed.

The master bedroom had been painted powder blue, her favourite colour. A new queen bed stood against the far wall, it's bedding crisp white. Across the foot of the bed was a quilt that Alma Stroud and the Lions' Club ladies had made. The bed had a new headboard; a quirky affair that Stringer had made from repurposed barnboard.

By the large bay window was an antique spinning wheel which had belonged to Isabel's grandmother.

"That looks nice, there," Levi observed.

She turned, tears filling her green eyes. "What on earth did you do?" The tears spilled over. "You did this for me...I love it..."

Levi reached into his pocket, pressing his house key into her palm, closing her hand around it.

"This is your house now," he said softly. "Yours and Farlan's". He kissed her forehead.

_________

"Jeez," Farlan remarked. He was at a loss.

In the back room of the big house, was a gift from the Kirschstein family; a new chest freezer.

Jean and Farlan bent over it, peering into it's depths. The freezer contained more pies, loaves, muffins and meals than Farlan had ever seen.

"Jeez!" he shook his head again, incredulous.

"Yup, I made _all_ these," Jean grinned proudly. "Peach pies, blueberry pie, shepherd's pie, schnitzel, strudel, wheat bread, pot pie, cow pies..."

"Dick," Farlan jostled his friend. "Not cow pies!"

"These should keep you guys fed for a bit."

"Cow pies..."

"I swear to God, I know more about shit than I ever thought possible..." Jean declared. "I never knew a day could be filled with so much shit..."

"You learn some stuff working here?"

"I learned I wanna be back in my own kitchen, playing my X-box, and not smell like shit," Jean said. But his eyes were beaming. He'd done his best for Farlan. And Farlan had come home.

__________

Dinner had been a chaotic affair, Isabel alternately laughing, crying and smiling as she'd toured the changes that family and friends had made to the big house. Farlan's old room had been repurposed for Kiki, done over in a Noah's Ark theme, with pairs of plush animals peeking out of a basket Ark.

The den at the back of the house contained Farlan's gaming system and movies, and had been hung with retro prints of his favourite muscle cars.

Everyone had brought casseroles and cakes, ribs and roasts.

Just after dark, a Greenspace truck pulled up, trying to find a spot along the crowded driveway. A lone figure got out, wrapped in a brown aviator jacket with a wool toque pulled down over his ears.

Armin entered the big house by the back kitchen door. There was quite a hubbub in the kitchen; at first, no one noticed his entrance.

"Armin, son!" Royal Puckett raised his remaining arm, in greeting.

"Armin!" Isabel sprang up, handing Kiki to her mother. She crossed the floor, embracing Armin tightly. "I'm glad you're here safe! Wait until you see..."

Levi, who had been heating up a pot of soup, looked up. Armin pulled off his wool toque, his blond hair zinging with static. The happy commotion seemed to recede; for a moment, Levi saw nothing except Armin, blue eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Some part of Levi which had been off-kilter, sharp and unsettled, slid into place. It gave Levi a stability; igniting hope.

He put down the soup spoon, smiling gently at the dishevelled boy in the doorway.

_Welcome home,_ he signed.

__________

Farlan, grateful beyond measure but growing weary, took a slow walk down to the south barn, with Eren Jaeger.

"You guys were telling me the truth," Farlan nodded approvingly, "Everything's looking ship-shape."

"I mean, there were a few bumps," Eren chuckled. "Some teething pains, but we got everything ticking over."

"And by teething pains, you mean..."

"Jean!" Eren laughed. "Goddamn if he didn't try. I never saw anybody try so hard. He's just not an animal guy."

"No," Farlan laughed. "Nope. But points for effort."

Eren pulled a flask out of his vest. He unscrewed the top and offered it to Farlan. "Here," he said, "medicinal brandy."

"Can't," Farlan shook his head.

"OK. So, what's the prognosis then?"

"Well," Farlan replied, "In terms of the joint damage, what's done is done. But it doesn't have to get worse, not for a long while anyway. I'll always be a bit sore, but I can live with that. Breathing wise, doc says that will improve. Over time."

He looked sidelong at Eren. "Bet Norold will be glad to have you back."

The two friends leaned on the split-rail fence, watching the safety lights wink on around the enclosure.

"Well," Eren said slowly, "yes and no...."

"Oh?"

"The vet in Wapassing, who's been covering for me...his kid just graduated from Guelph last year. Vet as well."

"So?"

"So...they've approached me, to see if there might be a place for this kid in Norold. Also...I got an interesting offer. From the Bear Clan band at Elbow Lake. They're looking for a vet to live on-site, on the Rez."

"What?"

"Yeah. The Anishnaabe have to come into Norold or Wapassing, for livestock and even for pet care. So..."

"What about your half-brother up there?" Farlan noted.

"My half-brother. I don't know. Maybe we get to an age where we need to either talk stuff through...see if there is a relationship there...or face the fact that we're no good for each other. But without talk, we won't know, will we?"

"Guess not. Would it be full time?"

"There's the thing," Eren said excitedly, "It isn't. So...well, if you're looking for a herdsman here, I'd be up for it."

Farlan beamed. "Wow, man. Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Farlan bent then, scooping a handful of dirt, and letting it run through his fingers.

At that moment, it finally hit home that the horrible fear was behind him. And his guard came down. He began to shake with relief.

"Damn," he shook his head, swiping at his eyes with his glove, "Damn, I never thought I was coming home..."

__________

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

"Good grief," Armin's passenger exclaimed, "this really is a tiny little plane, isn't it?"

"Are you warm enough?" Armin asked kindly.

"Thank you," She was a reserved woman, almost classically beautiful, with an aquiline nose and a smooth french knot in her hair. It was rather a shame that her headset was squishing it.

"How long...until we land?" she inquired.

"About twenty minutes," Armin banked the plane to the east.

Her face was a mask of calm, but her hands clutched her seatbelt in a white-knuckled grip.

"Oh," Armin was sympathetic, "Please don't be concerned, Miss Smith. We've nothing to worry about. I've flown in much worse. I've even landed a plane beside Lake Nipissing. In a blackout."

"Please," she braved a smile, "If we're going to hurl pell-mell into the side of a barn together, you must call me Juliet."

"Juliet," Armin smiled, enjoying her accent. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were english...I mean, I did...but..."

"We emigrated when Erwin was nine," Juliet told him. "He didn't keep the accent, whereas I did."

"Where from...?"

"Brighton."

"I've got a new British friend," Armin told her animatedly, "Ambs. She's a junker. A small aircraft mechanic. She lives in Thunder Bay."

"She's a ways from home then, isn't she?" Juliet shifted. "I still find North American nomenclature fascinating," she said.

"At least it's phonetic," Armin said. "Nipissing is pronounced, _Ni-pi-ssing_. You get names in Welsh or Gaelic that aren't...like Caiomhe. How does that get pronounced as Kiva?"

He was bright. And cheeky. And incredibly lovely. "Point," Juliet smiled.

"Now," Armin said calmly, "We're about to land, Juliet."

"Oh?" Juliet looked out of the window, in mild panic. "Armin dear, where is the airport?"

"No airport," Armin answered cheerfully, "We land on the airstrip I made at Churchfarm."

"At Ch - oh, dear God!"

"Look! See that speck? It's Levi!"

Juliet inhaled deeply, savouring her last breath.

"Are you okay?" the blue eyes were solicitous.

"Yes Armin," she said, gritting her teeth, "Just don't hit any bloody sheep."

"Hopefully, the runway is long enough. I think my calculations were sound."

Armin began his descent. The plane shook a little.

"Fuck." Juliet lent a civilized precision to the word.

"At least...I hope it's long enough," Armin teased. The plane touched down, bumping merrily along the gravel strip, toward the cistern.

"There," he pulled to a stop and faced his passenger, eyes dancing merrily. "Actually, I've landed here four times before."

"You are a cheeky little shit," Juliet concluded.

Juliet exited the plane, accepting the hand that Levi held up to her. Then, the smell of the farm hit her, living and verdant.

"Oh dear," she smiled. "I'd forgotten how beautiful it is here."

"Juliet," Levi greeted her. He embraced her, picking up her bag.

Levi signed to Armin: _Juliet doesn't like to fly. I hope you were nice to her._

Armin bit his lip. _I teased her._

"Not very badly," Juliet smiled.

__________

Juliet slept lightly, and was awake in her bed at five a.m., when Farlan and Isabel tried to begin their day as quietly as they could. She heard the shower hiss, the baby cry. The cows began to low, impatient for milking. She heard the crunch of Eren Jaeger's truck on the gravel drive as he arrived for work.

She rose, and went to the window. The pre-dawn silhouettes of the cows, thick and squarish, shuffled toward the barn.

Juliet Smith dressed, by the light of a Tiffany lamp that had belonged to their Granny in Brighton.

She made her way down to the kitchen, where she found Levi and Armin.

_Juliet,_ Levi signed, _Would you like tea?_

"Yes, please," she nodded. She tried to sign: I... _forgot_...she looked at Levi for confirmation of the sign, "forgot?"

_That's the sign,_ Levi nodded, _'forgot'._

_I forgot how early in the morning your day on the farm begins._

_For some,_ Levi replied.  _Others,_ he tilted his head toward Armin, _require their beauty sleep._

_Hey!_ Armin signed. _I'm a night owl._

Juliet looked at him.

"Owl," Armin smiled at her. "Like this," he made the sign again.

Levi handed Juliet a hot cup of tea. Paused. Then, he tipped a finger of brandy into it.

_Thank you dear_ , she squeezed his arm.

__________

In farm country, sometimes there is morning mist. It doesn't roll in, as an Atlantic fog would, but rather rises from the ground, like a harbinger of souls.

Levi, Juliet and Armin drove slowly up Scugog Point Road as the sun rose, heavy and orange, over Sturgeon Lake. It filtered through the foggy pines, ethereal fingers of light.

Levi pulled up in front of The Hive. Inside of the restaurant, the craftsman lights that hung from the ceiling glowed warmly.

Levi got out of the car, assisting Juliet.

The front door of The Hive opened, and Mike stepped onto the porch. He had a bittersweet smile for Levi. In his arms, he cradled Erwin's applewood urn.

Juliet paused, taking hold of Levi's arm. She collected herself. "I'm sorry Levi. Please, let's carry on..."

Petra appeared behind Mike, wrapped in a huge sweater, her hair piled into a loose bun. "Hi guys," she smiled.

Mike walked down the stairs, slowly. He handed the urn to Levi.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Levi nodded. He turned. "Juliet? Sure?"

She nodded, fishing a tissue out of her bag. "I'm sorry, I'm not very stoic."

Armin touched Levi's elbow. _I'll drive,_ he signed.

The car wound slowly up Scugog Point Road, emerging at the lookout which had been Erwin's favourite spot.

"Oh, look!" Petra whispered. The sun had just cleared the horizon, igniting the fog on the lake. It shimmered, otherworldly. Around it's rim, an honour guard of autumn trees blazed red and yellow.

"It's so beautiful," Petra breathed. She rubbed a hand over the swell of her belly, the baby kicking.

"What do we do?" Mike asked. "Do you want to say something first, or say something after?"

"I think," Levi said carefully, "We'd best proceed, before the wind picks up. We don't need Erwin blowing all the way back to the Church River library."

He caressed the top of the urn. "Juliet?"

"Oh heavens, no," she said, "I'll miss, I know it...he was your husband, Levi. You need to be the one to let him go."

Levi stepped forward. He bent his head, closing his eyes. _Do you want to go? You have to tell me now. Once I do this, I can't undo it..._

What came to him was: _flow._

The flow of water, that was no longer sullied. The flow of blood, purified from infection. The flow of life at the farm; birth, death, and rebirth.

His promise to Erwin had been kept; the community was healing, Erwin's work was done.

Levi unscrewed the lid of the urn, lifted a finger to the wind and stepped to the edge of the promontory.

With a ghostly swirl, the ashes danced in the mist, freed.

Levi exhaled.

_The circle was closed._

__________

Armin sat up in bed, in the Chapel home he shared with Levi. He had his laptop open, perusing some work.

His laptop chimed; Hanje wanting FaceTime.

Armin accepted the call. She peered at him through her glasses. "Miss you, sweetie! How was today?"

"Sad," said Armin. "Sad, but good. Natural. The sunrise was beautiful."

"How is Levi?"

"He's okay. I mean...people are as okay as they can be. They miss their friends and family. But there is such relief...the entire county is in clean-up mode. There is hope."

"Good!" Hanje grinned. "Armin, we just got word from Hartley Bodt. Colonial Homes has agreed to the terms of the class action suit. We've won!"

Armin yelped in surprise. "What? Really?"

"Yup. With a federal lawsuit nipping at their heels, the developer needs all of its resources dedicated to that case. They're hoping that settling our class-action suit out of court will work in their favour."

"So, no court?"

"No court." Hanje confirmed.

"How long for payouts?"

"About twenty-four months, however medical restitution payments begin in a few weeks."

"That's what we estimated."

"Mum?"

"Yeah?"

"What about Elbow Lake? They've been hit hardest, and have the fewest resources."

"Well, apparently there was a loophole in the gag order...so you can expect to see Zeke Jaeger and company on Parliament Hill very soon...on TV, on YouTube, everywhere. This is going to blow wide open. Bigger than Oka."

"Good," said Armin. "And we'll be there to help them."

__________

The first frost came at the end of October. So did a cheque, addressed to Farlan Church. He opened it at the kitchen table, passing it to Isabel.

Also in the mail was a small, padded packet, addressed to Levi and Armin. Levi opened it. It contained a USB key, and a note to Armin, from Juliet Smith. He nodded thoughtfully, and went to find Armin.

Armin was across the orchard, speaking to the crew that had hollowed out the foundation of the A-frame building he'd purchased from Levi, so that the soil could be cleaned, in-situ, and replaced. It was a noisy, messy process, but it would allow Armin to save the structure.

_Can you come in for lunch?_ Levi signed.

Armin nodded. _In a little while._

Levi heated up a pot of stew, and set a place for Armin. Beside Armin's bowl, he left the USB key and the note from Juliet.

It occurred to him then that this was something - perhaps the _only_ thing - from Erwin that was intended, as fate would have it, for Armin. Smiling softly, he closed the back porch door and meandered up to the north barn to check on the new lambs.

__________

Armin came in for lunch, dropping his overalls at the door and scrubbing his hands and arms red. He helped himself to a bowl of stew, and sat down at the table. The house was quiet. Isabel, with an assured determination, was baling hay with Rey Joice's baler in the east field. Kiki was at tot-swimming lessons with her Grandma Faye.

Armin turned the USB key over in his hands thoughtfully. He went to fetch his laptop, and plugged it in.

A video. Blue sky, at a strange tilt. Then, the A-frame house...oh, the orchard! Only the trees were smaller. And...a tall man, gaunt and handsome, with carefully-marshalled blond hair.

_"Now,"_  the man began, _"Levi, hold the camera steady, please..."_

_"Today, we are going to demonstrate grafting a species of Fuji apple, to this mature Red Gala..."_

Armin dropped his spoon with a clank, covering his mouth with a hand, startled. It was Erwin!

The image tilted again, and Armin heard a frustrated snort from the cameraman.

_"Erwin. You're tired. We'll do this later. You need to rest."_ Levi's voice, to be sure, but spongier; earlier-on in his articulation efforts.

_"No Levi, just a few more minutes...This particular graft is perfect for demonstrating...."_

_"Erwin,"_ younger-Levi's impatience was rising, _"Nobody cares about apple grafting."_

Erwin met the impudence with a knowing smile. _"That's simply not true, Levi..."_ Erwin's voice was full of warmth, and patience. _"Give me that..."_

The scenery spun wildly, as Erwin took the camera from Levi. He zoomed in on the graft, narrating.

_"Now, in the case of this orchard, I use coloured wool to label my varietals...red for Red Gala, purple for Fuji..."_

"Pink for Cripps Pink," Armin joined in. He had begun to cry, overwhelmed as his orchard and it's founder sprang to life before his eyes, "Blue for Honeycrisp..."

Erwin turned the camera toward Levi. And there he was; young, impatient, moody. A stark fear behind his eyes, as Erwin's health waned.

"Oh, Levi!" Armin touched the screen.

_"Apples,"_ Erwin said patiently, _"are beautiful. They are a gift. They are far easier to manage than goat cheese."_

Against his will, the glowering younger version of Levi shook his head, laughing.

_"See? Not so bad,"_ Erwin said comfortingly. _"Now, let's finish this video. I want to put it on that YouTube. Here is how you prepare a quality grafting paste..."_

Armin cried, laughed, ate his stew and gave thanks for everything that Erwin Smith had been, and the gift he'd left Armin, through the mist.

 

 


	21. Rain on Roots

Armin had hoped to save the charming stone work shed. Over a hundred years old, it stood sixty feet to the north of Isabel and Farlan's former home. In all likelihood, founder Emory Church had built it with his own two hands. However, it sat in the trough of a watershed, and no matter how many readings Armin took, the soil toxicity level was too high to allow the shed to remain standing.

The shed, he'd discovered, held no sentimental value for Levi. When Armin had approached Levi about dismantling it, Levi had signed: _What shed?_

Armin and Connie Springer set about razing the small building, dumping the fieldstone into a conveyor for cleaning in-situ.

It was noisy, dirty work. In addition to the growl of the conveyor, Connie maintained a stream of excited chatter, about Norold, about Sasha, and about the new position he'd accepted as Armin's second field technician for Ontario north.

"We," Connie enthused, "are practically family now, aren't we?"

"Yep..."

Armin took a massive swing at the plaster upper wall of the shed with a sledgehammer. The plaster gave way like butter, and he stumbled. The visor of his hazmat suit was coated with fine powder. He swiped at it with his glove, peering into the hollow space between the plaster wall and the fieldstone.

"Huh," he frowned.

"Armin? You listening?"

"Sure..." said Armin, who wasn't.

He reached a glove into the hollow, pulling out a yellowing bundle of envelopes, stuck inside a plastic freezer bag and tied with a thick shoelace, sporting a daisy pattern.

Armin strode out into the watery, late-fall sunshine. He approached the decontamination trailer, depositing the packet through a chute.

Some time later, he showered  in the decontamination cubicle. He found the packet, placed it into a scanning drum and discovered it to be free of toxins, apart from some mildew.

Curiosity mounting, he finally opened the bag, reached in and pulled out a letter.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, reading the fine, spidery hand. He placed the letter on the stainless steel workbench. Blinked.

__________

"Boss?"

Mike Zacharius looked up. He was processing maple butter in his outdoor kitchen, behind the Hive. It was late October. Soon, it would be too cold to prepare food outside. Ontario squash varietals were ready to harvest, and his pumpkin patch had erupted into a magical landscape. Each weekend, families made their way up to the Hive, seeking the perfect pumpkin for jack-o-lantern carving. Some mornings, Mike found the melted-down stubs of candles belonging to the local teenage wiccans that revered his pumpkin patch as hallowed ground.

"Boss?" Gelgar, his chef, addressed him again.

Mike raised his head. "Hey," he nodded. Gelgar looked pained.

"Petra sampled the black cherry cake," Gelgar began uncertainly. "She said it was lovely…"

"It's excellent," Mike agreed affably.

"But then, she threw it up," Gelgar shook his head sadly.

Mike laughed aloud.

"It's not funny."

"The cherry cake is fantastic," Mike said evenly. "So is the maple walnut spice cake. And the french vanilla with honey."

"She tried them all...trying to pick one, for the wedding cake. But she's gotten sick each time, so I don't know if my cakes are actually _awful_. Maybe they are. Maybe you should just get Jean Kirschstein to bake your wedding cake."

"Nonsense," Mike said firmly. "Everything makes Petra sick right now. Even, or especially, the sight of my ugly mug," he chuckled.

"I thought morning sickness only lasted a couple of months," Gelgar approached Mike's workbench, screwing lids onto the jars which Mike had filled.

"Not for everyone," Mike dropped a large hand onto Gelgar's shoulder. "Tell you what," he said, "Let's do our signature honey cake, with buttercream. That'll make a fine wedding cake."

Mollified, Gelgar smiled. "Go see to her," he said, "I'll finish these jars."

Mike Zacharius found his bride-to-be hunched over her tablet, with a cup of ginger tea and a soiled towel.

He sat beside her carefully, so as not to disturb his queasy girl.

"Poor Gelgar," Petra smiled wanly. "I think sugar upsets me right now…any sugar, no matter the flavour."

"Good thing," Mike said equably, "You're very fat."

"Your lip will be fat in a minute," Petra arranged herself gingerly against Mike. "You smell like maple," she grimaced.

"You knew the package deal," he reminded her.

Petra propped her tablet against Mike's leg. Her nausea was beginning to abate. She scrolled her e-mail inbox. Stopped. There was a message from the adoption website account she had set up for Levi. _Contact Request: Lin Woodman (Linwood Ackerman)_ was the subject line.

"Oh!" she sat up.

"What?"

"Oh, shit. Wow. I don't believe this. This person is Levi's _dad_. Mike, where's my phone?"

__________

Isabel and Farlan were having an animated argument in the east field, over the baler. Farlan stood, hand on his hip, gesturing like a disgruntled scarecrow. Isabel, lodged in the driver's seat, leaned out of the side window and hollered back at him. Finally, she stabbed her finger in the direction of the south barn, dismissing him with finality.

Levi snickered, watching from the porch.

He turned his head. Armin was striding across the field toward him, the top of his field overalls tied around his waist, by the sleeves. He carried something in his hand.

Armin reached the driveway, took a step toward Levi, and hesitated. Then, he sat himself down on the porch steps. Levi toed him in the leg.

"Hey, boy..."

Armin's cheeks were flush, his mouth compressed into a terse line.

 _I found something,_ he signed, slowly and close to his body, giving the expression due gravity.

Levi sat down beside Armin. "What?" he asked, "Treasure?"

_Depends._

Armin took the freezer bag, re-tied with it's daisy shoelace, and gingerly placed it into Levi's lap.

Levi touched it with a finger.  _What is it?_

Armin dropped his chin onto his knees. Held his hands out. _I only looked at one. I had to clean it._

Levi tugged on the daisy shoelace, loosened it and opened the bag.

"Hello Levi," the letter began. Levi gasped. He scanned the contents. It was signed, "With love, Lin."

Shaking, Levi looked at the date of the letter. 1993.

He stood, looking across the field in mild panic. Finding no answers in Isabel's neatly-bundled rye bales, he sat back down.

He pulled the remaining letters out of the bag. There must have been forty of them.

"These…" he shook his head in disbelief, thumbing through the envelopes. "My dad wrote these..."

Tears sprang into the grey eyes.

"I thought _my_ dad was full of surprises," Armin commented wryly.

"Where did you find these?"

 _Inside the hollow shed wall,_ Armin signed. _I nearly missed it._

Levi turned the packet over. _Only one person could have put them in there,_ he mused. _My mom._

Levi pressed the precious bundle to his chest. "Thank you," he pulled Armin close. "I really didn't see this coming."

"Oi!" Farlan called grumpily across the yard, "Hello? Last time I checked, this was a dairy farm? Anybody else working today?"

Levi completed the evening milking, moving as if through a thick fog. He got a text from Juliet Smith before dinner, regarding the contract he was negotiating for the publication of Spring Thaw.

Isabel made dinner; a pull-apart affair made of crescent roll dough, grilled asparagus, cheese and bacon.

Halfway through the meal, Farlan said something which made her laugh, and was promptly forgiven for his snarky mood earlier. Isabel ceded no ground when it came to her baler.

Levi excused himself, wandered down to the Chapel and made himself a pot of tea. Then, he sat down with the stack of letters from Linwood Ackerman.

 _Want me to leave you be?_ Armin stood beside him. Levi draped an arm around him, swatting him gently on the ass.

 _No…but I want to say thank you, again. And Armin_ , he held out his teacup by the rim, _we got any brandy?_

__________

**AUTUMN, 1984**

Faye Hawley entered the big house at Churchfarm through the back kitchen door. Gideon's dad, Mac, had constructed a new, enclosed cedar entryway to keep out the draughts. She inhaled; it smelled wonderful.

In the kitchen, Gideon's parents, his aunt and a smattering of neighbours greeted her. There was gushing, hugging and exclamations over the ring on her left hand.

She and Gideon Church were engaged to be married.

Nodding graciously and peeling herself out of her neon K-Way rain jacket, she escaped upstairs to Kuchel's room, let herself in and closed the door firmly, leaning on it.

"Ohhhh, my _gawd_ , Kiki," she rolled her eyes. "I just got mauled by a pack of Church's."

Kuchel sat at her dressing table, looking into the mirror. She snickered. Carefully, she drew a dark angel wing over one eye.

Faye sat at Kuchel's writing desk.

"What did you tell your mom about tonight?" Kuchel asked.

"I told her my shift at the Legion wore me out," Faye grinned, "and that I was too tired to go to bingo tonight. And that you were feeling sick, so I was coming to hang out with you..."

Kuchel laughed, jogging her eye-pencil by accident. "Damn!"

"...so we're supposedly having a quiet night in."

Kuchel nodded her head toward her desk drawer. Faye opened it, finding a mickey of Peach Schnapps. She unscrewed it, taking a sip.

"Give it here," Kuchel held out a slender hand.

"No. Your pills."

"I didn't take my pills."

"Kiki!"

"It's okay. I took two of them at 3 a.m. instead of 3 p.m." Kuchel took a long swallow.

There was a scrambling in the hallway, and the door opened again.

"Jee-zus!" Vivian Peddle exclaimed, "There's a mob of Lion's Club Ladies in the kitchen!"

She flopped onto Kuchel's bed.

"Hey, Viv!" Faye held out the mickey. Viv sat up, accepting it. "Cheers. So, what's the deal?"

"The scoop is we're not going to bingo because we're apparently too _tired_." said Kuchel.

Vivian Peddle lay back, laughing loudly. "Fuck, you guys are lame. Did they buy it?"

"Sure," said Faye.

Viv rolled onto her side. "Well, c'mon," she gestured toward Faye, "Let's see it."

Faye held out her left hand. Viv took it, examining the cushion-cut ruby. "Nice," she said, and then yanked Faye onto the bed, nearly spilling the Schnapps.

"Vivian! Let me go!" Faye untangled herself and sat up.

"How did Gideon do it?" Viv wanted to know. "Was he like... _oh, my beloved Faye_...."

"Ew!" Faye snorted. "No!"

"Well, what then? Did he get down on one knee?"

"He asked me at church. At choir practice."

"How? Did he sing a proposal?"

"No, idiot! He asked me...he was like, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife...and then the choir sang."

"Really?" Kuchel swivelled around. "My troll brother did that?"

"Uh-huh. Did you see the ring?"

"Only a hundred times. It's my granny's, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

Kuchel smiled, pleased that Gideon hadn't made a total ass of himself. "My brother really asked you at church, and then the choir sang?"

She regarded Faye seriously. "Gideon is a total, massive handful. Are you...sure?"

Faye nodded. "I love Gid. I get him. And I don't take any shit off of him."

Viv Peddle rolled onto her back, reaching into her Union Jack tank top.

"By the way," she said to Kuchel, "You've got boob mail, honey!"

She pulled a letter out of her top, tossing it to Kuchel. Kuchel picked up the letter, opening it. She leaned over it as she read, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"I hate her," Viv told Faye matter-of-factly, jerking her thumb at Kuchel. "Hate her. She's gorgeous. She's tragic. And she's in love with a dark, mysterious boy."

"So?" Faye prodded, "what's it say?"

"Yeah," chimed in Viv, "Does he tell you all his sexual fantasies?"

Faye snorted at Viv. "You need to sleaze everything up, don't you Viv?"

Viv sported a green army jacket, jeans with holes slashed in the knees and black boots. Her blond hair was teased into a crisp, fluffy mass.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Faye asked.

"Yes, Lady Faye," Viv drawled. "this is what I'm wearing. Get your little dresses on. I can't throw knives with Kenny the Ghoul in a mini-skirt."

Kuchel Church finished her eye makeup. She painted her lips a silvery pink, and pinned up the front of her dark hair. She smiled at her reflection. Soon, she'd be smiling at Lin.

__________

In a field north of the Norold Fall Fairgrounds, the carnies and itinerant workers had erected a pop-up village of trailers and tents. In the centre of this, a huge bonfire blazed.

Faye had liberated Gideon's car keys and drove his mustang to the edge of the field.

The three girls had met the carnies two years prior. The itinerant troupe was close-knit and protective; they were selective regarding association with outsiders. However, the three Ontario girls were kind, discreet and offered no judgements.

Viv led the way, finding their friends close to the fire.

"Hey, Ghoulman!" She nodded her head at Kenny Ackerman. He looked up, a glint in his eye. He smirked.

"Well, look what we got here," he drawled amicably. "You lookin' for trouble?"

"Depends on who you ask," giggled Faye Hawley.

Viv's gaze flicked to the tall black man sitting beside Kenny, leaning over the fire to warm his hands.

"Hey, Rey," she said. "You cut your hair."

Reynaud Joice beamed at her, a bright smile splitting his face. He had, in fact, shaved his head.

"How you keeping, Vivian?" he asked. "You look good, girl..."

"Well," Viv fidgeted nervously. "Whatever. I didn't dress up. Or anything."

Kenny Ackerman raised an arm, pointing to a target set up against a tree. He pulled a crisp American twenty out of his pocket, setting it on the overturned tin bucket which served as a table.

Viv eyed the money. Looked at the dark southerner in the black hat.

"Knife throw?" she asked him.

"Axe," he replied.

Viv grinned broadly. "Axe," she nodded. "I could part your hair with an axe..."

And thus, Vivian Peddle took her eye off Kuchel Church, engrossed in axe-throwing with Kenny Ackerman and enjoying the heat of Reynaud Joice's eyes on her.

Faye Hawley had entangled herself in a conversation with two fortune tellers who convinced her to allow them to paint her with henna, in honour of her upcoming nupitals.

Kuchel had known Linwood Ackerman for two years. At nineteen, he wasn't a boy anymore; at least, not to her eye. The year prior, they'd shared a kiss. He'd begun to write to her. The letters arrived at Peddle's Feed and Seed. Vivian smuggled them over to her, in the ample confines of her bra.

Lin wasn't simple-minded. He was brilliant. And curious, And creative. And very much alone in the world, apart from his chaotic brother. He stood with Kuchel at the edge of the bonfire gathering. Carefully, he embraced her, his forehead pressed to hers, as if communing a year's worth of adventure into a single moment.

She kissed his cheek, his mouth. The kiss was chaste for a moment, and then openly heated.

She pulled back, looking into the grey eyes. Then, Kuchel tugged his hand, leading him between the trailers, finding the small tent in which he slept.

She ducked inside. Disregarding every warning that his brother Kenny had ever imparted, Lin followed her.

__________

**SUMMER 1992**

Faye Hawley-Church had betrayed her husband Gideon just once in her life. No matter how many times she turned the events of that awful night over in her head, she always arrived at the same conclusion: she'd have done it again.

Kuchel's pregnancy had shattered Gideon. His beautiful, fragile sister had given herself wholeheartedly to a homeless, incoherent, deaf boy. She'd gone to see her specialist in Toronto without a trace of shame, enlisting his help in navigating a pregnancy despite multiple sclerosis, head held high.

Faye had been the buffer; expert at calming and neutralizing Gideon, wisely accepting Kuchel's choice.

Levi Churchill Ackerman had come into the world on Christmas Day, 1985. He'd bawled lustily, offended at having been ejected from the warm confines of the womb.

The envelopes had kept coming, sometimes stuffed with money, and Viv had delivered them faithfully until Faye had put a stop to it, announcing to Gideon that Linwood's letters would be accepted at Churchfarm, henceforth.

Faye often asked herself what she would have done, had she been the one to discover Lin Ackerman in the bedroom of his seven-year-old son, in the dead of night. He had, in fact, come to say goodbye to his little boy.

Faye speculated that Gideon's rage upon discovering Lin there, had been sparked by shock, or fear. Either way, he'd dragged Linwood down the outside porch steps and proceeded to thrash him senseless.

Faye had opened her mouth to shout, preparing to wedge herself between the two men, when Kenny Ackerman had appeared out of the darkness, wrenching Gideon off of Lin, pinning him to the soaking wet grass with a revolver jammed against his forehead.

Gideon had gone slack; this was no Legion brawl on a Saturday night; rather, he found himself staring into the dead eyes of an armed, deranged madman.

"Stop!" Faye had barked, although at that point, no one was moving at all.

A wrenching cry sounded from the porch above; Kuchel held Levi, who was trying to eject himself out of her arms and reach Lin.

"Fuck," Faye had cursed. It began to rain; wind whipping down from the north field. "Kenny! Ken, back off. Back. Off."

Kenny released Gideon, picking his injured brother up off of the ground and helping him down the driveway.

Faye bent over Gideon. Glanced at the two retreating figures. Then, she looked up at Kuchel and her sobbing nephew.

"I'm going to get Grisha," she announced.

Gideon spat bloody goo onto the lawn. "I'm fine," he rasped.

"Nope. Your eye's full of blood. I'm going for the doctor. Get inside!" she ordered.

__________

She found Linwood Ackerman limping down the road, alone. She stopped the car, rolling down the window.

He peered inside. "Get in," she mouthed clearly, beckoning him with her hand. "Quick!"

Faye drove. Beside her, Linwood hunched miserably, tears tracking through the blood and muck on his face.

Faye reached behind her for Gideon's hockey towel. She handed it to Lin. They drove in silence, toward Lindsay airport.

At Pigeon Lake Road 17, Faye pulled over sharply. She stared at Lin, who had made a half-hearted attempt to clean his bruised face.

She knew only basic ASL; not like Viv, whose brother Lorne and niece Maryann were both Deaf.

She faced Lin, in the dim light of the car's overhead lamp. "Where will you go now?"

"I will go," his voice grated with disuse.

Faye took his shoulders. "I know. But...where?"

Frustrated, she picked up her choir book, ripping out a page and fumbling for a pen.

 _'Where will you go?'_ she wrote.

He took the pen from her, shaking.

 _'Anchorage'_ , he scribbled. _'Crab fishing'_.

"Really?"

He wrote: _'really good money. The crabbers asked me to sign on as a ship's mechanic but they didn't want Ken. They don't like his temper. So I could never do it before, because of Ken. Me, they're ok with.'_

They sat in silence, staring at the lake.

"Give me the gun." Faye demanded.

She snatched the pen. _'I know u have it. Give it. If you get caught with it, they'll lock you up for sure. It's not worth it.'_

Slowly, Lin reached beneath his coat, handing Kenny's revolver to Faye. The chamber was empty. Kenny's intervention had been pure theatre. She opened the car door, stalked out onto the government wharf and hurled the weapon as far as she could, out into Pigeon Lake.

Then, she opened the trunk of the car, rummaged around and returned to the driver's seat.

"Here," she said, handing an envelope at Lin.

"What is it?"

"Money. Gideon's cash from the auction barn. Take it."

"No."

"YES!" she countered fiercely, shoving the packet against his chest. She wrote, _'I have an idea.'_

They drove south, around the hook of Sturgeon Lake, toward Lindsay airport.

The lights in hanger two were on.

"Wait here," said Faye.

She disappeared into the hangar for several long moments. Then, she returned to the car, opening the passenger door and helping Lin out. Come, she gestured.

Lin followed, blindly trusting that Kuchel's closest friend meant him no harm.

Inside of the hangar was a large man, with a long mane of brown hair. He had a beard, and kind eyes.

 _Hi,_ he signed.

 _Hello,_ Lin responded.

 _My name is Ansel,_ the man signed. _I'm a pilot. I'm married to Viv's niece, Maryann._

Lin nodded slowly, comprehending. He looked back at Faye, tears of gratitude filling his eyes.

 _I can fly you north, as far as Thunder Bay,_ the man called Ansel signed. _From there, I will put you on a charter I know, bound for Anchorage. You have your documents on you?_

 _My wallet,_ Lin signed, _Yes, everything._

_Good._

Lin turned back, embracing Faye tightly. "Levi," he said brokenly. "He's little..."

"I will take care of Levi," Faye mouthed clearly. "Now, go. Go..."

Faye turned then, walking out of the terminal, tears blinding her. At the car, she took the page of the choir book upon which they'd written the next chapter of Linwood Ackerman's life, fumbled for her Bic lighter and set it on fire. Sparks rose into the rainy night, and winked out.

__________

"Here you are!" Armin leaned out of the Chapel's bathroom window. Levi had climbed out onto the roof - a short, flat expanse that capped the kitchen extension which had been built onto the rear of the original stone chapel.

Armin realized a moment later that he'd been speaking to Levi's back, and it was dark.

He pulled his head back inside. Then, he padded into the hallway, pulling their down-filled sleeping bags out of the hall closet. He put the kettle on, and filled a thermos with hot tea and whiskey. He carried the lot back into the bathroom, popping open the medicine cabinet and shoving a few more choice items into his pockets.

Then, he pushed the entire lot out onto the roof, arranging a cozy nest around himself and Levi.

Levi pulled the sleeping bag around their shoulders, as Armin settled into his lap. Levi leaned in, nibbling the soft skin beneath the blond hair.

"You got booze?" Levi rasped.

Armin nodded, unscrewing the thermos and pouring a steaming mouthful into the lid. He was curious about the letters, but waited patiently to see if Levi would broach the subject.

The sleeping bags made a toasty cocoon, while the chill fall air stung Armin's cheeks. Around them, darkness blanketed the farm, broken periodically by the paddock enclosure lights. The stars burned in their firmament above. Levi held his hands out, studying them in the yellowish light from the bathroom window.

Finally, he signed: _She wanted me._

_Your mom?_

_Yes_

Armin frowned. Kuchel's love for her son had been no secret. _Of course she...._

 _No,_ Levi clarified. _I mean to say...she wanted to have me. She wanted a baby. While she was still strong enough to carry a baby to term and raise a child. She wanted me, and she wanted Lin to be part of that._

"Huh," Armin frowned thoughtfully. _So...that makes you feel differently?_

_Well, yes. For most of my life, I've felt like...an accident, or an inconvenience that the pious, church-going farm folk have had to whitewash. But I wasn't an accident. Not to the people that matter most. Not to my mom, or my aunt Faye…or your Viv. Not to Farlan. And…not to my dad._

Armin braved a question: _They...they never married? Or lived together?_

Levi shook his head. _Mom needed the support of our family. She was never well, and I was a handful. He...well, he went north, to make money on the crab boats..._

Armin squinted at the sign in the dark. _A fisherman?_

_Fishing, for crab._

_Oh._

_He sent money, cards, letters. She kept them all...she hid them. Then after she died, nothing more._

Armin paused. _Do you know why?_

_Nah. I have more questions than answers right now. It's a lot to take in. I just need..._

Armin nuzzled closer, lips soft against Levi's rough cheek.

 _I know what you need,_ he signed, and then the hands disappeared into the sleeping bag, sliding up inside of Levi's sweater, flattening against the hard planes of Levi's chest.

They lay on the roof, rolled in the sleeping bags, limbs entangled, watching the northern lights. The aurora borealis fanned, ethereal green and purple, across the Ontario sky. Armin sighed. They'd managed to drink the entire thermos of boozy tea, and now he plied Levi with kisses: cheeks, chin, neck and finally his lips, rain-soft in contrast to the coarse stubble.

Their nuzzling took on a slow, sleepy rhythm as they lay entwined on the dark roof. They'd half-wriggled out of their clothes, loathe to open the sleeping bag and admit the frosty air. Armin wore flannel sleep pants, which Levi pushed down his thighs without much trouble.

Armin leaned back so that Levi could see him in the dim light. "I'm drunk," he smiled serenely.

Levi looked into the blue eyes, hooded and mischievous. He reached down and brushed Armin's erection lightly with the back of his hand, watching the tick at the corner of Armin's mouth, the lips compress, the bob in his throat as he swallowed.

Levi held still, feeling the ridged, silky skin against his knuckles. Slowly, he ran them along the hardened length.

Armin rocked his hips slightly, savoring the mounting tension in his groin, the too-light touch building heat, molasses-slow.

Levi shifted his hand, curling his fingers around Armin's cock, holding it lightly and without motion. Then, he brought his face close to Armin's, mirroring the tongue-kiss that Armin had given him earlier; a flick of his tongue against Armin's lips. He lapped softly, pleased as the boy's cock began to twitch in his hand. Still, he held his fist still.

He felt Armin's warm breath puff out into the cold space between their faces as he began to pant. Levi took his thumb, scraping it along the tender, fleshy knot on the underside of Armin's cock. Once, slowly. Twice.

Armin's hand closed around his wrist, squeezing. _Wait,_ the gesture communicated. Levi released his prize, laying back and allowing Armin to wrestle him out of his sweater and warm-up pants. Armin disappeared inside of the sleeping-bag cocoon, discovering that Levi wore tight, cotton briefs. He smiled to himself, remembering how he had teased Levi about them.

 _You try,_ Levi had retorted pragmatically, _holding a squirming sheep during shearing season with your junk flopping everywhere. Some days are just not boxer days._

Armin parted his lips, inhaling the opiate that was Levi's skin scent. He ghosted his face over Levi's taut belly, feeling the dark hairs tickle his closed eyelids. He sucked the soft skin between his teeth, raising red blossoms. He nosed further down, delighting in the texture of Levi's hard-on straining against the cotton pouch. He nudged Levi's cock, his tongue slipping inside of the undergarment's flap and contacting salty skin. He wiggled his tongue. Levi moaned.

Armin shoved the sleeping bag sideways, admitting a crack of cool air. He settled himself, head on Levi's thigh and proceeded to slowly lave the white cotton with his tongue until it was soaked through. Levi's hips rose, pressing against Armin's mouth. Armin used his lips to drag the cotton over the tender head of Levi's cock. Levi twitched, hands fastening in Armin's hair and tugged twice.

_Not yet._

Reluctantly, Armin resurfaced, kissing Levi fully, offering Levi a taste of his own flesh. He pressed his body to Levi's, sighing with pleasure as Levi's strong hands cupped each butt-cheek, squeezing.

The game began anew; Armin receiving Levi's attentions; Levi wrapping a corner of the down sleeping bag around Armin's erection and squeezing as Armin rutted into the soft fabric.

Armin began to unravel, groaning loudly.

Then, he found a hand clapped over his mouth. He opened his eyes, turning his head, to look over the edge of the roof at the Big House. There, in the driveway were Farlan, Jean, Eren Jaeger and Terry Puckett. The boys had had a night of gaming with Farlan, and were standing around the gravel driveway, having a beer for the road.

"Mmmf!" Armin moaned. Levi glanced down at him, scowling. Then, his head shot up again, trying to determine if Farlan's guests had heard them.

Armin realized, with mounting amusement, that Levi knew sound travelled...but he didn't know how _well_ , nor how far. Given this opportunity to tease Levi, he began to chuckle, teeth nipping at Levi's palm.

"Sssssh!" Levi hissed, mortified. He had no intention of being heckled for a week by Jean Kirschstein, or even worse, by Terry Puckett, for rutting on the roof with Armin like a pair of cats.

Levi looked down at Armin. Armin's eyes held an incredible mix of mirth, defiance, and heat.

"Fuck," Levi whispered, capitulating. "You want it? Will you be quiet?"

Armin nodded, mute.

Levi reached over, fingers connecting with the little tube of glide Armin had cleverly thought to bring out onto the roof.

"Mm!" Armin moaned appreciatively. Levi scowled, studying the figures in the driveway, to see if any of them had heard.

"Stop it," Levi mouthed. Armin squirmed, locking eyes with Levi. Levi squirted the lube awkwardly onto Armin's belly, swiping at it with his hand. He kicked the sleeping bag aside, and Armin shuddered, already over-stimulated.

Levi took a single finger, dragging it from the base of Armin's balls, up his shaft to the tender tip.

"More?" Levi whispered. The rough finger trailed back down the twitching curve of Armin's cock.

Armin nibbled at Levi's palm.

The third time Levi caressed him, Armin drew his knees up toward his chest and spread his legs, the tightness in his groin unbearable.

Levi closed his hand, squeezing.

"Come, baby..."

He stroked Armin firmly then, getting kicked and bitten for his trouble as Armin rocked helplessly in spasm, splashing wetly onto his belly. He wriggled his tongue between Levi's fingers, gasping for breath.

Levi pulled the sleeping bag back over them both as Armin's pounding heart slowed.

Armin poked his hands out of the nest, wet and sticky and signed to Levi, eyes half-closed and still riding a gorgeous afterglow: Fuck me, fuck me....

Levi looked at his palm, purple from the attention of Armin's teeth. He sat up, scrambling to open the window.

 _Get in there, you,_ he gestured.

Armin climbed inside, about to inquire about bed, when he found himself bent over the bathroom vanity, t-shirt rucked up around his armpits.

Levi's eyes met his in the mirror. _You like to tease me, huh?_ he signed.

Armin nodded, ruddy mouth twitching into a little grin.

Levi slicked two fingers, rubbing them softly against Armin's opening. He circled, tickled and stroked, but refused to penetrate his lover.

Armin shifted, arching backward, body entreating Levi to finger him.

Finally, Levi slid a finger inside of him slowly, slicing through the thick ache.

"Fuck," Armin gasped.

Levi removed the finger, stepping to the side and pulling down his briefs. His cock bobbed, purplish.

They stood, shivering, absorbed in one another's reflected expression. Armin studied Levi's face; his guard had softened, only the bare-bones of raw feeling remained.

 _Breathe,_ Levi signed into the mirror. _Make your body soft for me._

Armin took a shuddering breath, then another.

Levi pressed two slicked fingers inside of him, then three, opening him quickly, the stretch burning a little.

Levi's chest rose and fell, hair a dark tangle in his eyes.

He yanked Armin off of the vanity, urging him to his knees on the fluffy bathmat. He knelt behind Armin, grasping his lover's hips and then filling him with a long, slow thrust.

"Oh fuuuuck!" Armin whined.

Levi pushed Armin's head and shoulders down onto the mat and held him there. "Okay?" he gasped.

It was an incredibly arousing end to their game; Levi manhandling him to the mat, facedown, shoulders pinned, knees spread and ass in the air. Armin squirmed, just enough to entice Levi to tighten his grip. "Okay," he replied.

Levi fucked him then, enjoying the slight ripple of taut flesh as his hips connected with Armin's smooth ass. Gorgeous. He'd been edged for over an hour; his thighs ached, his balls were hard as iron.

He thrust with mounting urgency, one hand pressing between Armin's shoulder blades, the other gripping his hip.

"Mine," he gasped the word, claiming Armin. "Mine..." the sound dissolved into incoherent keening. His overwrought body hovered on the brink of orgasm. Armin pressed backward intuitively, rubbing his cheeks hungrily against Levi's groin.

_Jesus. Fuck. Beautiful boy._

Levi came, bracing himself against the door jamb, rocking into Armin, sweat-soaked and moaning. He melted then, easing down onto the floor, hearing Armin's whimpers as his lover stretched his locked-up limbs.

Armin blinked blearily, the upstairs hall floor meeting his face at an odd angle. He couldn't move.

After a long moment, the warm weight of Levi shifted. Levi turned the shower on, and gently picked Armin up off of the floor.

They stood, silent and satiated, beneath the spray; it stung bruises and bites, aches and pains.

Later, they slept. Levi dreamed of his mother then; passing like a slender ghost beneath the eaves of the Big House; drifting across the Chapel lawn, laughing as she got into Faye's car; holding her arms out to him as a child, smiling as the rain slowed, and finally ceased.


	22. The Tree of Life

_The Tree of Life: A Portrait of Indigenous Artist Lin Woodman_

_by Mikasa Edo-Woodman_

_Special to The Vancouver Observer_

 

_November 18, 2017_

_My father, Lin Woodman, is a painter. His work is featured in 'Indigenous Voices', a collective exhibit of contemporary native art, which opens this month at Vancouver's Lattimer Gallery. His pieces are folk-derivative and painfully authentic._

_I'd initially been asked to review the exhibit for this three-part series, however I'm not going to do that. Trust me, the show is well worth your while._

_In place of a review, I offer a story about roots: family, connection, and tradition. Despite being a brilliant man and a gentle, loving soul, my father has had precious little warmth in his life._

_Lin Woodman spent a good chunk of his youth traversing North America as part of a troupe of itinerant carnival workers. This was followed by a fifteen-year stint as a mechanic with Alaska Fisheries. He now resides on Salt Spring Island, B.C., where he paints, repairs boats and keeps to himself much of the time._

_At this time of year, my father often exhibits at the Granville Island Christmas Market. This year, however, is an exception._

_This year, my father is going back to Ontario._

**October, 2011**

It made Mikasa's cheeks burn with adolescent mortification: being publicly collected at school by her mother. She was fiercely independent - not in the habit of discussing her family, nor even admitting that she had one. Rather, she projected the image of a black-garbed waif; a moody, impenetrable figure that lived in some underground Vancouver enclave of dispossessed teens.

She sat in the passenger seat of her mother's Honda Element, expertly freezing Karen out. The vehicle pulled into the underground parking lot of their condo, close to the seawall.

Before the car had come to a complete stop, Mikasa threw open the door, placed her booted feet onto the concrete and slammed the door shut. She headed for the elevator, Karen trailing in her wake.

Mikasa came by her intensity honestly; her mother was fiercely strict and exuded a grounded strength that Mikasa challenged at every turn. Mikasa referred to her as the _Dragon Lady_ in conversation with her friends, relishing the ironically racist undertone of the nickname.

The conversation unfolded shortly after they'd entered the apartment.

"Mikasa. You can't just adopt the name 'Woodman' out of the blue."

"But, it's my father's name."

Karen sat at the modern kitchen island, sipping a delicate cup of green tea. Mikasa glowered. Her mother held the cup by the rim; unruffled.

"The name on your birth certificate, your medical records and your high school registration, is Edo. My surname. You've been swanning around the school for a month introducing yourself as Mikasa Woodman."

"Woodman is my father's name." Mikasa repeated. Mikasa refused to pour herself a cup of tea; to do so would have indicated cooperation.

Karen exhaled; a long, soft sound, grating to Mikasa as this was a 'coping tool' her mother employed in managing their exchanges.

"You should have spoken to me, first."

"I'm fourteen."

"Exactly."

Karen swallowed a mouthful of tea, eyeing the petulant girl with purple-tipped hair and dark eyes.

"His name, his _birth_ name, is actually Ackerman. Linwood Ackerman."

Mikasa stomped out into the hallway, toed off her boots and shrugged her jacket onto the floor. She returned to the kitchen.

"Linwood Ackerman," she crossed her arms, glaring. "So my name, my _real_ name is actually Mikasa Ackerman. Mikasa Ackerman. And I'm finding this out from you _at age fourteen._ "

"Mikasa," Karen Edo tilted her head. "Mikasa, you are you. The same person you were this morning. Whatever name has been entered in a computer, written on a page...it's just a word. It's not _you_."

"Names have power," Mikasa argued. "If what you say is true, you might as well call me Turnip. or Breadbox."

"Turnip Ackerman?" Karen smiled.

There was to be no diffusing Mikasa. When Karen had gone to take a bath, Mikasa had jammed her belongings into her knapsack, snuck into her mother's office and thumbed through her phone, then headed out for Salt Spring Island, to find that parent that, she was certain, would understand her.

__________

_(newspaper)_

_He'd lived with us when I was little, on and off. He'd been aboard the 'Elora Jane' when she'd sunk off the coast of St. Paul. He'd been injured, and had stayed with us for a few months that time. I have a memory of him cooking something in the kitchen, smoking, wearing an undershirt._

_I remember eating a thick stew; he'd given my mother some to taste, on a long wooden spoon. I found this odd; my mother was the ruler of our domain; most certainly capable of holding her own spoon._

_I must have been five years old before I realized he was Deaf. I thought the signs were something that passed between grown-ups. A secret code that defined how much ice-cream I'd be allowed to eat, or whether or not I could use the laptop._

_Yes, I caught them once; and yes, it nearly burned my eyeballs out of my head, seeing my parents, naked and embracing. It wasn't the act itself that shocked me; it was the tenderness with which he was caressing my mother; treating her as though she were something precious. It was this intimacy; this implication that she existed as some wild creature outside of the scope of parenting me, which unnerved me._

__________

Mikasa nearly bolted after she'd rung the doorbell of the narrow, clapboard house on Salt Spring Island. A little red light flickered inside. How on earth would she be able to plead her case? Her dad was Deaf. She knew a small handful of signs, and that was it. She swallowed, standing her ground.

The door opened. He stood there, one arm propped against the doorframe, regarding her. He smelled of paint and smoke, and his dark hair, shot with grey, was pulled off of his forehead with a potato chip clip.

"Dad?" she looked at him.

His lips twitched. "Wait," he mouthed. The door shut.

It opened a moment later. Lin Woodman held something in his hand. A school photograph of Mikasa, toothless and seven years old. He squinted at the photo in a pretense of comparing it to the black-garbed teen on his porch.

He allowed her a peek at the photo. "This really you?" he teased.

The words were indistinct, off-cambre, but his humour shone through. She nodded, smiling.

"Okay," he held the door open. She stepped inside.

Lin didn't hover. He didn't ask why she'd turned up on his doorstep. Nor even if she was okay. Rather, he returned to what he'd been doing, which was cleaning his brushes.

Mikasa dropped her knapsack, walking around the narrow main floor of the house. In what would customarily have been the living room, Lin had fashioned a studio. The smaller room adjoining it held a battered couch, TV, computer and a tall, built-in bookshelf rammed with content.

Leading off of this room was a back porch and a metal staircase. The back courtyard was walled, with pea-gravel in place of grass, and littered with old doors, wood scraps, a heavy easel, and bits of vintage signs.

Mikasa felt equal parts trepidation and vindication. The creative chaos, almost a mind-barf of everything that mattered to Lin, was a stark contrast to the pristine, Japanese-inspired condo overlooking Stanley Park.

There were glasses scattered her and there, pastel-bright, full of painty water.

She perched on the couch, watching Lin.

He was short, well-muscled, fawn-skinned. How old would he be now? Fifty-two?

He cleaned his hands on a rag, and sat down, his grey eyes fixed on her.

He signed, _Can you sign?_

She shrugged.

He held out his hand. "Phone," he demanded. The tone did not suggest this was a negotiation.

Mikasa took out her iphone, activating the home button with her thumbprint. Lin took the device, tapping at it to call home. He put the phone on speaker, watching Mikasa.

_"Mikasa? Where are you?"_ Karen sounded more worried than annoyed.

Mikasa pointed at the phone to indicate her mother had answered.

"Karen," Lin spoke into the mic. "She is here."

A long moment passed, and then Lin's phone buzzed. He picked it up, looking at the screen.

_Text me, please!_  Karen had sent to Lin.

"I'm hanging up, mom," Mikasa said. "I'm fine."

He didn't ply her with questions. Rather, he made a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches, cut up some Straub's pickles, and sat back down beside her. He nudged one of the sandwich triangles at her. They shared the lunch he'd made, from the same plate.

__________

_(newspaper)_

_It happened again the following weekend. I packed a bag, and my laptop, and set off for Salt Spring Island. I arrived to find a friend of my dad's sitting in his kitchen. A large, rounded, brown man with thick fingers._

_"Dave," said my dad, jerking a thumb at the visitor._

_"Hi," I said._

_Dave nodded at me._

_I was also greeted by a skinny black cat, with inquisitive green eyes. He'd been outside on my prior visit. I reached down, and he nudged my hand for a scratch. "Who is this?" I'd asked._

_"Also Dave," said both Dave and my dad._

_A fragile peace resumed between my mother and me. I came home promptly from school most days, vacuumed, and started dinner. She began the paperwork to change my surname to Edo-Woodman._

__________

One evening, after Mikasa had visited Salt Spring Island a handful of times, Karen sat down on her bed while she read. Karen's lips were compressed in a tense line.

Mikasa put her open book down on her chest. "Don't," she said flatly.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"Of course I do. It's obvious. You're going to point out that my dad is...what will you say? Probably eccentric. A bit reclusive. That he's not a normal dad, and you don't want me to get hurt."

"No."

Mikasa waited.

"It isn't about how he might treat you. It's about how you regard him. It is very difficult for a child to have a relationship with an inconsistent individual."

"I'm not a child."

"Exactly. And so, you need to watch your expectations. Your father has spent his life as a marginalized individual. He has never lived with us full time. Don't assume that he will be there for you, on a given day, per your expectations. That isn't how he connects. You can't give him your affection and then remove it when his behaviour doesn't line up with what you want."

"That's so unfair. You give me so little credit, it's unbelievable."

"Listen to me. Lin perceives himself as an outsider. As though he peers through a window at the rest of us. Unwanted. He will pull away sometimes, before you push him away."

"But he's _not_ an outsider."

Karen was silent.

"Lin's choice to live here...to visit when you were little...to stay in touch with me...it's the closest thing to a family circle that he's ever had. He's been a presence in your life, albeit an unusual one. He couldn't do that for his son."

Mikasa sucked in a breath and held it. She stared at Karen. Finally: "What.....son?"

__________

_(newspaper)_

_And so: the boy. I discovered that my father was still water, running deep. If he didn't want to discuss a topic, he would not be moved. Such discussions never escalated into unpleasantness; rather, he'd begin to babble in French, or he'd say his ears hurt, or tug on a little piece of my hair._

_I turned fifteen, then sixteen, then seventeen. "The son" remained only that to me. I began to understand my mother's warning; she did not disparage my father for his eccentricities; Rather, she loved him and could not bear the thought of me running roughshod over him, the way I had done with her._

_My father's experience of love is that it's given and then, invariably, it's taken away._

__________

On Christmas Day when she was eighteen years old, Mikasa took a cab to meet her father in Vancouver's east end. It was a tradition that Lin and Mikasa worked in St. Matthew's soup kitchen on Christmas Day, helping to provide the homeless with a hot meal.

She met her dad, Dave and a few of his friends on the steps of St. Matthew's.

_How was your Christmas Eve?_ Lin signed.

Mikasa pulled off her mittens. _Hi everyone,_ she signed. _You know, the usual...went to Nana's in White Rock. Then out for noodles. Guess what?_ she gestured animatedly, _I got an internship at the newspaper!_

"Hah!" Lin was pleased.

Mikasa stood at the stainless steel cafeteria counter, between her father and Dave, helping to fill plates. Her dad's hands were articulated, bony, and his knuckles were paint- stained blue and red and green. Dave's hands were large and soft as foccacia. He wore a silver ring with a turquoise in it. At one point, her dad slowed the buffet line.

A woman had appeared; thin, pale and dark-haired. Glued to her side was a little boy of about seven; watchful, cautious.

Mikasa elbowed her dad gently. _Dad, give them potatoes._

The woman raised her hands. _You sign? We sign too. My son is Deaf._

Mikasa smiled. _Merry Christmas,_ she gestured.

The woman smiled back, but the smile didn't reach her sad eyes.

She found her father afterward, around the corner of the shelter, leaning against the brickwork and smoking, tears tracking down his cheeks.

"What?" she took his shoulders. "Dad?"

Lin dropped the cigarette, mashing it with his boot.

He spelled out the word carefully: _Levi. Your brother's name is Levi. Today is his birthday._

__________

_(newspaper)_

_My brother lives in Ontario. I've known he existed for seven years. I've known his first name, for three. Levi._

_I'm twenty-one years old now. I write for the Vancouver Observer. I'm also a blogger, and I work part-time for my mother, Karen. She's a talent agent, representing artists: painters, musicians, writers. That's how she met my father. She still represents him._

_Attempting to rent an apartment in Vancouver these days is nearly impossible; I divide my time between Salt Spring Island and my mom's condo on the mainland. Failure to launch, I know._

__________

**NOVEMBER 2017**

Mikasa had created a home office in a small, dormered room off of Lin's kitchen. It smelled of sawdust and had hideous strawberry-patterned wallpaper from before the Second World War.

Someone, she reflected, had been pasting up strawberry wallpaper while her grandparents and great-grandparents were being herded like animals into an internment camp.

She'd left the wallpaper up, as a cautionary tale.

"Miggy!" Lin hollered. "Miggy!"

Cross at being interrupted, she stalked out of her office. In the living room, Dave sat, immobile. His head was enveloped in a huge wad of wet white plaster, out of which a straw stuck, so he could breathe.

Lin was casting Dave's face for a mixed-media piece.

"Miggy!"

_I'm here!_  she signed sharply, having mastered the nuances of sign language enough to convey irritation.

Now that his daughter was able to sign, Lin reserved verbalization for urgent situations. To him, speaking was a nuisance. 'Miggy' was close enough to 'Mikasa' in his view. He had a beautiful, elegant name-sign for her...graceful and strong. It was far superior to any sound he could make.

_Is something the matter with Dave?_ she signed and asked, "Dave, are you ok in there?"

"Uh-huh," grunted Dave.

Lin shook his head, pointing at the TV.  _Who is that?_

Mikasa squinted at the set. Local Ontario news. _Elbow Lake, Ontario_ , read the caption.

"What happened to your described video?" she picked up the remote. Lin had done something to the controller; the feed was in Spanish.

On the screen, a young, pale-haired man in a flight jacket stood in front of a barbed-wire fence with a bullhorn around his neck, speaking and signing emphatically. To his left stood a sinister-looking figure, bearded, with a black hat. To his right, a group of local Anishinaabe, which included a tall, striking woman in a police uniform.

The pale-haired man raised the bullhorn.

"This barricade comes down", he declared, "when illegal dumping of toxins onto Elbow Lake First Nation is brought under control!" He motioned a young man forward, lifting his shirt to reveal an angry-looking red rash.

"How is this okay?" he declared, "Mr. Prime Minister, how is this okay?"

_Armin Arlert_ , read the caption, _Greenspace Environmental Engineering._

Lin leaned forward, focused on the tall, bearded figure to the left of the speaker. "Ken," he mouthed softly.

_What is this demonstration about?_ he asked Mikasa.

_The Elbow Lake Blockade,_ Mikasa signed.

The timer on the kitchen table began to chime. Lin pulled himself away from the TV, and began to cut Dave out of the plaster.

After Dave went home, they ate. Lin sat, shoulders hunched over a plate of curry, silent.

Mikasa's phone buzzed. Russell, her friend at the Observer.

She toed Lin gently.

_Dad,_ she signed. _Russ sent me his notes. So, there was a big environmental cleanup in Ontario this summer. With the condo boom in Toronto, developers have been excavating toxic soil from the waterfront - from stockyards, old hospital sites, factories, and other contaminated areas. Rather than paying to have the fill properly disposed of, they've been dumping it in the dairy belt, where food is produced. Or worse, passing it off as clean landfill for projects north of this city._

_This has been going on since the late nineties. People began to get sick, and die. Finally this summer, a private firm was able to consolidate efforts to sue the developer. It turned into a massive thing; after discovery was completed, the Federal government ended up suing the developer._

Lin put his spoon down into his bowl, watching her.

_The developer settled quickly with Ontario farmers. Got to keep the food chain moving, right? However, compensation for Elbow Lake was slow in coming; the Anishinaabe are being shoved aside. Not only that, but, even after this was brought to light, two more trucks were caught last month, dumping toxic material into the upper Pigeon River._

Mikasa stopped to eat a few bites.

_So. The Elbow Lake Anishinaabe threw up a roadblock. A form of customs, they are calling it. Basically, any vehicle entering Elbow Lake First Nation has to check in for inspection and receive a pass. The Rez Police are regulating traffic, which technically isn't legal, since the Province manages the highways._

_And, boom, We have a stalemate until a settlement is reached. The Big Food unions are refusing the inspection. So their drivers won't cross the blockade. The stores on the Rez are running out of food, water and supplies._

_That blond guy, Mikasa continued, was a major player in the cleanup. Since the food trucks refuse to comply with Reservation inspection, that guy actually flew food and supplies, in his Cessna airplane, over the blockade and landed the plane on a football field. That got the attention of media, finally._

_What else?_ Lin signed.

_I dunno, dad. Google it._ Mikasa picked up the plates, putting them into the sink.

__________

A week later, Mikasa arrived at her father's house, ears and nose frozen from the ferry ride over. She'd debated coming; her editor had green-lighted a three-part series on Lin Woodman, and the condo offered more comfortable working conditions.

Still, she seemed to do her most authentic work in the small, dormered office with the strawberry wallpaper. She was always just a little chilly, just a little damp. Her nose was assaulted with a strange mix; turpentine, crepes, tuna, plaster.

She opened the door and let herself in. Dave the Cat ran to greet her, tail in the air. She picked him up and wandered into the living room. There, she found Dave the Guy, and Twitch. Twitch was a Japanese brush artist, so-called because his myriad assortment of allergies caused his eyes to randomly wink.

"Hi," she set Dave down.

"Morning," said Twitch.

"Chilly," said Dave.

Mikasa found her father, in bed, curled up in a slightly rank duvet. The drapes were pulled tight against the low November sun.

She frowned. Was he sick?

She walked around the bed. Lin's eyes were open; he stared vacantly at the wall.

_Dad,_ she signed. _Dad, are you sick?_

She reached out, touching a hand to his forehead, noting the two days worth of dark growth on his cheeks.

"Go away," he rasped.

Mikasa walked back out into the living room, confused and stung.

"Lin's in bed," she announced. Dave and Twitch were watching _The Price Is Right._

"Yeah, we know." said Dave.

Mikasa went into her office, unpacking her knapsack, turning the situation over in her mind. Her dad's two friends were sitting on the couch, showing no sign of concern. So, perhaps there _was_ no cause for concern?

Then again, they were an odd bunch, if one were to judge them by any mainstream standard. A thought flashed into her mind: _Dave wandering into the bedroom, walking back out and announcing, "Lin's dead," before settling down to watch Family Feud at eleven._

Mikasa texted her editor, requesting two more days to complete the first part of her series, and reminding him that this still left a two-week pad.

She went into the kitchen, cleared away the painty glasses, and proceed to make her father some breakfast.

She went back into the bedroom sometime later, bearing a poached egg, toast and a cup of tea.

She opened the drapes.

Lin stubbornly rolled over, refusing to look at her.

Mikasa set down the meal, and quietly left. She sat down on the couch, between Dave and Twitch. Dave patted her on the leg.

"Want chips?" he offered her the bag.

"What's he doing?" Mikasa asked softly.

"Getting ready," Dave replied.

_Ready for what?_

An hour later, Mikasa checked on her father to ensure he was still breathing, set up her laptop and began to work.

In the afternoon, she cut up some chicken and vegetables, throwing these into Lin's crockpot. Her father liked this chicken dish, over udon noodles.

Freezing rain began; a small, thin downpour that battered the house like dried rice.

"I have to take Twitch home," Dave stood in the kitchen doorway. "I'll come back later."

Mikasa nodded. When they'd left, she picked up her phone, and dialled.

"Hi, honey."

"Mom?" her voice was small and tight. She found that no other words could make their way around the stone in her throat. "Mom..."

"What's happened?" Karen asked gently.

"He won't move...he's lying in bed. I'm getting very worried," Mikasa sat down on the couch, brushing chip crumbs on to the floor. She sniffed, swiping at her eyes.

Karen sighed.

"Mom, is there something I don't know? Does dad suffer from depression? Or flashbacks? Like..."

"He'll get up when he is ready," Karen said levelly.

"I think I should stay," Mikasa replied.

"What about your deadline?"

"Mom," Mikasa snapped, "What about it? Someone in my family needs me. This isn't school anymore. You use exactly the same tone, when we discuss my work, that you used to use at exam time."

"School can't fire you. Work can."

"Do you have any more useful insights?" Mikasa asked flatly.

"Mikasa, you and I are alike. We crave order. It gives us peace. Lin is human chaos. You can't corral him into thinking the way you do. But also - you can't allow his chaos to suck you in to the point that you begin to malfunction. Trust me. I know."

Mikasa sighed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means leave him be, and you do your thing".

Mikasa sat, watching the freezing rain pebble the window. The crockpot had begin to hiccup pleasantly.

"I feel sometimes as though nobody loves him," she began to cry soft, hot tears.

"You love him. I do love him, too. We just can't exist under the same roof. And Dave loves him."

"So what do I do?"

"Finish making soup."

__________

Mikasa had fallen asleep on the couch, under a frayed Vancouver Canucks blanket.

She awoke to the smell of acrylic, plaster and coffee.

Through the french doors, she saw her father standing in the studio, wearing ancient cargo pants, no shirt and a wool cap.

He was painting, using both hands, a brush in each hand, scribing circles onto a round piece of plywood.

Mikasa got up, padding into the kitchen. On the counter was a large bowl, with remnants of udon in the bottom. He'd eaten.

She walked into the studio, sitting on a stool by the wall, and watching. Lin painted; large, organic strokes. Periodically, he dropped his brushes entirely, using his fingers to scratch, scribe, or dab. He signed absently, to himself, grunting in satisfaction, eyes bright.

He stood back, scratching the top of one bare foot with the other. He turned, saw her.

He beckoned her over. His hands were caked with lemon yellow paint. He put a careful arm on her shoulder, leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tenderly.

"I'll be okay," he whispered. "Is Miggy okay?"

__________

Lin painted for three straight days. The piece was circular, five feet in diameter. It was painted in his iconic style; folk-derivative with meandering lines, zoomorphic images reminiscent of petroglyphs. A tree, brightly-coloured, at the top of the arc. A dark, ominous tree, mirror reflected, on the bottom curve. In between, at the centre of the piece, painted in a womb-like, hollow space where the roots of the light tree met the roots of the dark, a small figure curled around a tiny black cat.

After ten hours of work, Lin inhaled a plate of spaghetti and passed out, satiated.

Mikasa finished her story, sent it to her editor and called her mother.

"Mom," she breathed, leaning in the doorway, looking at the work of art. "You have to come. You need to see this."

__________

Lin stood in the studio, with Mikasa, Karen and Dave, looking at the new piece of artwork.

Mikasa tilted her head, fascinated that the piece could be viewed from any angle.

_Dad, which end is the top?_ she signed.

_That depends,_ Lin responded, _on where you are, in your life. Sometimes, the dark tree is growing. Sometimes the light one is._

_The figure in the middle,_ Mikasa asked, _It's you?_

Lin shook his head. _No, it's the boy. I am on the outside. I contributed to his experience, good and bad._

_It's brilliant,_ Karen signed. Lin smiled at her; a soft glimmer of their private world.

_There's more in here,_ Lin tapped the side of his head. _But...I need to talk to you all._

They sat at the table, having coffee and pastries that Karen had brought from the bakery.

Lin sat, placing a letter onto the table that he'd received from Ontario. He nudged it toward Mikasa.

_Read it._

MIkasa picked up the envelope, examining the chunky printing. "What is this?"

She turned the envelope over. "Who is Gideon Church?"

__________

_(newspaper)_

_My brother's name is Levi Ackerman. He's a well-known Canadian novelist, and writes under a pen name. Go figure. Another writer. I read his first book, The Stone Chapel. I was prepared for a self-indulgent, pastoral autobiography. The book tore my skin off. It was visceral, spare and made me want to give up writing. He'd written it when he was my age._

_He's a dairy farmer. He's also gay, and was married. And his husband died. All of which his readers will be well aware of; I'm not spilling any secrets here._

_Then, I read Rain on Roots. His second book is semi-fiction; well-researched but written without direct input from my dad. It's a conceptualization of my dad and his brother, Kenny. They were both 'carnies' - workers that travelled with fairs and exhibitions. My dad says that Levi has captured the essence of that time; especially as it would have been seen through the eyes of Levi's mother, Kuchel._

_That night, I fell asleep on my dad's couch, feeling off-balance and unsure of my place in this story._

_While I slept, my father sat, drawing me._

_The sketches of me are flattering; long-lashes, determined jaw. He included Dave the Cat, curled up beside me. The sketches remind me that, on a day filled with revelations, I am still his child, and still loved._

_A decision has been made. My father is going back to Ontario, and I am going with him._

 


	23. The Prodigal Father

Levi lay in bed, tense and unhappy. A chill November wind sent rain lashing against the Chapel windows. Armin was due in from French River, and he was flying solo.

 _Will you land here?_ Levi had texted him earlier in the day.

 _Hell no, not in a storm without landing lights!_  Armin had replied. _I'll land in Lindsay and grab a lift._

_I'll come get you._

_Farlan's already in town for a checkup._

Levi had capitulated, waiting at home. He'd had lunch and then gone to lie down; he'd had a headache and the weather wasn't helping. It was close to five when he heard Farlan's truck in the drive.

Armin and Farlan got out, Armin clearly in the middle of a story, and they had a good five-minute guffaw about something in the garage.

Armin let himself into the Chapel and came upstairs. He approached the bed, wondering if Levi was asleep.

He turned on the milk glass lamp, his young face bright with anticipation.

Levi looked at him grumpily and rolled over.

Armin walked around the bed. "Hey! I made it!"

 _Go away,_ Levi signed teasingly. _I don't want you any more._

_But..._

_You're useless with livestock, you eat like a starved squirrel and you leave your socks everywhere._

_But..._

Levi lunged then, pulling Armin down onto the bed, wrapping arms and legs around him, nuzzling and nipping at him, inhaling his warmth.

"I was worried!" he growled. "You said you'd text!"

_My phone died._

Levi sucked at the soft skin of Armin's neck, kissing the blond scruffy chin, trapping the soft lips and kissing him deeply.

 _I missed you,_ Levi admonished. _Three weeks is a long time! I missed you!_

 _I know, me too,_ Armin signed, melting into the strong embrace.

He wriggled free to unpack his things, while Levi went downstairs to make a pot of tea.

When Levi returned with the tea tray, Armin had his rucksack open at the foot of the bed. He'd stripped down and stood in a pair of white boxer briefs, sorting through his things. Levi watched him, enjoying the play of his shoulder blades as he unpacked, the wisps of blond hair parting over his nape, the briefs hugging his rounded backside.

Levi set the tray down.

He stood beside Armin, running an appreciative hand up the channel of the boy's spine. Armin didn't acknowledge the touch, but his flesh pebbled beneath Levi's fingers.

"You look edible," Levi croaked in his ear. "Am I whispering? I'm trying to improve my whispering."

Armin snickered. _Well no, you're kind of croaking._

"Hey!" Levi growled at him, examining the contents of Armin's bag. "Aren't those my new work gloves?"

Armin paused.

 _I've been looking for these!_ Levi picked one padded suede work glove out of the rucksack.

_Are these mine? Did you take them?_

Armin peered sheepishly at him from beneath his pale fringe. Levi slapped his backside.

 _They aren't yours anymore,_ Armin signed cheekily, _They're mine now._

The fine, dark brows shot up. "Oh, really? Is that right?"

"Really. That's right." Armin's chest rose and fell, the silver nipple stud winking in the soft milky light.

So. His boy wanted to play.

In one swift motion, Levi bent Armin forward over the rucksack, face and chest on the bed, pert ass in the air with the bag beneath his hips.

Levi seized both gloves, holding them in one hand with the suede fingers dangling. 

"You little thief!" He smacked the upturned backside with the suede gloves. Armin turned his face toward Levi, favouring him with a saucy expression.

"Is that all you got?" he mouthed. "Was that an ant bite?"

Levi laughed aloud. He slapped Armin's backside harder. "Don't ruin my gloves!" Armin teased.

Levi paused, appreciating the exquisitely helpless position Armin was in. He pinned Armin's wrists against the small of his back with one hand, yanking down the white briefs with the other.

Armin squirmed, thighs parting to allow Levi a glimpse between.

Levi raised his arm, slapping the suede fingers against the smooth bottom, with enough force to leave pink stripes.

"Ow!"

"Are you sorry?"

Armin's lip jutted out, defiant. "No!"

Levi set about his work in earnest, peppering Armin's squirming backside with stripes, adding a few to his upper thighs for good measure.

Levi stopped, admiring the rosy flush his handiwork had raised. He ghosted his palm over the heated skin, and Armin moaned.

Levi rubbed slow circles into the warmed flesh, and then spanked Armin with his bare hand. That stung intensely and Armin yelped. Levi brought his hand down again, gripping the sweet flesh on the downstroke and squeezing. Armin's cries of indignation had melted into gasps of pleasure; he wriggled, raising his hips off of the rucksack, encouraging Levi.

Levi spanked Armin firmly. The heat spread from Armin's tingling bottom to his balls, his cock hardening against his belly. He whimpered, rubbing himself against the bag beneath his hips. The heat began to verge on discomfort.

"Sorry," he gasped finally, tapping his fingers against Levi's wrist.

Levi paused, looking at him. Armin's lips were ruddy, and he was panting. Levi grazed his fingertips over the sore bottom. Armin shuddered.

With his left hand, Levi turned Armin's face a little, until their eyes met. "Are we truly sorry?"

"Yes."

Levi shook his head slowly; their little scene had aroused him to the point of pain.

"You enjoyed that," he said hoarsely. "So did I."

Levi pressed his thighs against the side of the bed, hips beside Armin's head. Levi's cock tented the pyjama pants he wore, and nudged damply against Armin's cheek. Levi pulled the drawstring, and the flannel pants slipped to the barnwood floor. His cock and balls grazed the quilt, inches from Armin's mouth.

Armin trembled, the scent of his lover enticing. His tongue snaked out, flicking the satiny tip of Levi's cock.

"Jesus," Levi hissed.

Armin pushed his face closer, lapping appreciatively at Levi's erection, eyes closed. He swirled his tongue around the glans, parting his lips and sucking the head into his mouth.

"Ah!" Levi felt a familiar tightening in his balls. He pulled away gently, not wanting the pleasure to end too quickly.

He reached into the bedside table, finding a little tube of glide. He put the glove on his right hand and swirled the lube around one of the glove's fingers.

This, he reached between Armin's cheeks. Levi slid the tip of the thick, textured finger inside of Armin. He took his other hand, running it tenderly through Armin's hair.

Armin smiled, parting his lips and taking Levi's cock fully into his mouth. Levi thrust his hips gently, watching Armin to ensure his comfort. But his boy was blissed out; expression soft and needy.

Levi thrust into Armin's mouth with a slow languid rhythm, and at the same time pressed the gloved finger gently into Armin's pucker.

Armin gasped around his cock. The glove was thicker than Levi's bare finger, textured and padded. It's seams sparked a deep pleasure inside of him and he ground his hips against Levi's hand.

"Good boy," Levi gasped, "Good, precious boy..."

Levi finger-fucked him steadily, delighting in the vibration Armin's mouth made around his cock as he cried out.

Armin freed an arm, fingers curling Levi's shaft, to better guide it into his mouth.

His fingers stroked Levi, lips sucking gently at the glans. Levi groaned, eyes sliding from the angelic face bent to it's task, to the upturned bottom, bobbing and glistening with lube.

"Armin..." he gave a tug, trying to warn Armin of his climax, but his young lover was ready and squeezed encouragingly, swallowing as Levi cried out, knees buckling with pleasure.

Levi disengaged, lying across the bed. He stared at the ceiling, heart hammering, his cock aching despite his first release, nerves firing.

Armin ran a reassuring hand across his belly, caressing, and encountering Levi's still-stiff cock.

"You're so hard..." Armin raised his head, surprised.

Levi was trembling. His heartbeat had slowed, but the dull ache in his groin persisted. Armin's fingers felt incredible, closing around him gently.

Armin looked at him, lush eyes full of heat. He spread his legs slowly, arching his back. "Please, Levi...I need you."

Levi didn't need to be asked twice. He slid off of the bed, walking to it's foot. Armin was still bent over the rucksack, his toes just grazing the floor.

Levi grasped Armin by the hips, pressing into him slowly. He shuddered; the heat inside of the boy was unreal. He smacked the little bottom again, raising fresh sparks and causing Armin to thrust backwards.

Levi closed his eyes, arched his head back and thrust into Armin, rocking deeper and deeper until the warmed cheeks pressed against his groin, twitching and trembling.

_Yes...yes...yes..._

Armin raised himself onto his elbows, gasping raggedly. Levi's hips snapped against his ass, pace quickening.

Then Levi reached forward, grasping Armin's cock with a gloved hand, stroking firmly.

The coarse texture against Armin's tender skin was exquisite. He began to shake, lithe body tensing, thrusting erratically into the lubed glove as Levi fucked him out of his mind.

"Levi...he sobbed, "Levi....fuck!" He came, belly in knots, spasming as Levi held him from behind and milked him through an orgasm that left him in a sticky, sweaty heap, like a broken puppet.

__________

Later, showered and drowsy, Armin dozed while Levi read.

Armin's eyes opened, fixing dreamily on the antique milk glass lamp. He squirmed, sighing happily, body aching.

As if reading Armin's mind, Levi snaked a hand under the covers, caressing Armin's butt cheek absently as he read.

And then, Levi uttered a cry of surprise. Armin bolted upright.

_What?_

Levi held his iPad in both hands, peering at it. He made a sound, fingertips touching the surface, fine features incredulous in the blue light.

Armin slapped Levi's leg gently. _What?? Show me!_

Levi shook his head; not to negate Armin's request, but in disbelief. He held out the device so that Armin could see.

It displayed a message, from the Adoption and Reconnection website. Onscreen was an image of a black cat sketch. The cat carried, by the scruff of it's neck, a small black kitten. The art style was unmistakable. Beneath it, a simple message: Levi, this is Lin. May I write to you?

____________

_This is Lin. May I write to you?_ He'd stopped by The Hive the following morning, and he and Petra had sat on Mike's couch, staring at the sketch. Petra had cried.

On the drive back to the farm, Levi inventoried every encounter that he could remember with Lin, the nearly-mute, dark-haired man that had appeared every fall, like a harvest spirit, only to disappear again. 

He'd sat with Levi, one jewel-bright autumn afternoon, teaching him how to draw the black cat. The lesson had ended when Kenny had loomed over them, growling at Lin.

Levi rolled his eyes. He supposed that he ought to tell Kenny about this development. This sat in his gut like an underdone potato. Kenny had done everything in his power to vex Levi, and to alienate himself from the farm community of Church River. He'd cost Levi months of rework, spinning inaccurate yarns about carnie life, and then laughing when Levi's had had to trash entire sections of Rain on Roots and then rewrite it, doing his own research. It was perverse.

 _I don't need to do it today,_ he'd signed, more to himself than to Eren. They were in the north barn, trimming Remus's hooves.

Eren raised a hand _What?_

Levi shook his head, snorting impatiently. He walked to the back of the stall. Remus's hoof connected with his shin, with the force of a baseball bat. Levi hollered, startling the donkey further, causing him to tromp backward onto the top of Levi's foot with an audible crunch.

"Damn it!" Eren grabbed Remus's bridle, as Levi squeezed out of the stall, hopped out of the barn and limped in agonized circles, unleashing a stream of profanity.

"Sssh," Eren tried to settle Remus, clipping his halter to the O-rings in the stall.

He strode out into the watery November sunlight. _Jesus, Levi!_  he signed, _Did you really just walk up behind his right flank? You got a death wish?_

"Fuck!" Levi spat.

Armin ran through the orchard, having heard the commotion, and saw Levi sitting on the gravel.

Levi raised his head, glowering. _Stupid!_ he signed at Armin emphatically. _See? This is why you never, ever daydream while you're working with animals!_

 _What did I do?_ Armin signed, confused.

Levi raised the leg of his overalls. A bolus the size of an egg was rising angrily on his shin.

"That might be broken," Eren said to Armin.

Eren held Levi still as Armin pulled off his rubber boot. Levi's middle toe stuck up, at an excruciating angle.

"Eren!' Armin pointed.

"Oops. Levi, you broke your toe."

_I fucking know that! Eren, set it!_

"Do you know how to do this?" Armin asked, biting his lip.

"Yeah," Eren sighed. "Farm first aid, blah, blah. Hold still, boss, this is going to sting..."

__________

Levi was a horrible patient; sullen, grouchy and overcome with embarrassment that his absent-mindedness had cost the family a capable worker, just as things had settled into a routine.

The family sat in the kitchen at the Big House, discussing Levi's injury over soup.

"I don't want Jean," Levi carped at Farlan.

"That's not fair," Farlan replied. "Jean did great last time. He can run the app for the milking and he can cook. You don't mean that."

"No, I don't," Levi conceded.

"Things are winding down at The Hive for the season as well," said Isabel, dumping a handful of Cheerios onto the tray of Kiki's high-chair. "Mike can come down a few afternoons."

"Fuck."

"Well Levi, it's either that or Gideon back, and I know you don't want that."

In the end, ironically, it had been Gideon Church that Levi had confided in, about Lin's outreach message.

His uncle had only nodded, clapping him gently on the shoulder; no rant, no glaring. It was odd.

Levi kept himself busy. He called Juliet at Signal Tree in Toronto and lined up online interviews and a preliminary reading of _Spring Thaw_ for book reviewers.

He had promotional contracts to review and sign.

He hobbled around the kitchen of the Big House in his walking cast, concocting soups and stews.

Levi began his letter of reply one evening, in the deep dark of November.

_Dear Lin..._

__________

"Mikasa!" Karen called to her daughter.

Mikasa lowered her head, allowing it to thump on her desk. Why was it that her parents saw fit to constantly interrupt her work? She needed a door on her home office.

"What?" she yelled. "I'm working!"

When she got no response, she padded into the livingroom, to find her mother knitting.

"No, mom." she groaned.

"Please," Karen patted a spot beside her on the couch.

With a huff, Mikasa sat, holding out both hands so that Karen could use her as a human wool-holder as she counted off a skein.

"So horrible, I know," Karen sympathized, with a small smile. "You used to love sewing and knitting with me. Embroidery, cross-stitch. I taught you those things."

Mikasa opened her mouth and shut it again. And then: "Dad wrote to Levi."

Karen nodded.

"You know. Of course you know." Without moving her arms, Mikasa tucked her long legs up beneath her as she sat.

"Dad is like....."

Karen lifted the skein of wool off of her daughter's hands, and began another.

"Dad is..." Mikasa trailed off, switching gears. "Did you read Levi's books?"

"I've started. He's very good...but then, a writer's first book often comes easily; and there's always a market for disenfranchised young rebels."

"What...what is he like, though? I mean...is he an academic? Does he have writer friends and political blogger friends? Do they sit around someone's Toronto apartment, picking at tapas and drinking Barolo? Will they be perfectly nice to dad and then titter behind his back, and call him rustic? Will they tease him because he doesn't value verbal accuracy, and be grossed out by his painty knuckles? Will he be a novelty, writer Churchill Smith's carnie side-show father?"

"That's very bleak," Karen remarked. "Last colour..."

"Mom," Mikasa said pointedly, "What if he never contacts dad again, once his curiosity is satisfied? What if this is just an exercise in self-actualization?"

"Your father isn't a helpless idiot, honey," said Karen. "Goodness, he's criss-crossed North America six times. He spent fifteen years on the Bering Sea in some of the roughest work conditions going. He survived an abusive father, a sociopathic brother, and a shipwreck."

"Huh. I guess you're making sense. I'm just very protective."

Karen sighed. "Mikasa. Yes, you are. You are protective. And fierce. Think of yourself as a lighthouse. A lighthouse shines a bright light, keeping the ships from wrecking themselves on the rocks. What a lighthouse doesn't do is run all over the island, trying to save every ship in the ocean. It stays put, doing the best it can."

"Mom, you missed your calling. You should be churning out fridge magnets. Are we done here?"

"Yes."

"I just...I hope this guy knows that Dad is a person, not an exercise."

"Why do you assume he thinks Lin is an exercise?"

"Because, why now? Where's he been?"

_____________

DECEMBER 24, 2017

_Don't worry._

_I'm not worrying._

Lin twisted in the airplane seat to regard his daughter.

_Yes, you are. You have such a fearsome look on your face right now._

_I do?_

A flight attendant approached, pushing a stainless steel beverage cart.

 _Hello Mr. Woodman,_ she signed robotically, _Would you like a drink?_ She beamed at him, veneer-bright teeth like headlights.

 _Coffee, please,_ he signed.

"Orange juice," Mikasa looked up, "thanks."

The captain addressed the cabin shortly thereafter, announcing that Air Canada flight 921 would be making it's final approach to Toronto.

Lin jabbed Mikasa, gesturing with his thumb for her to lean over and look out of the window.

 _Farm country,_ he told her.

Mikasa complied, regarding the spattering of frozen lakes, the orderly concessions, farms slumbering grey-brown where the snow cover was thin and patchy.

She sat back in her seat, expressionless.

 _It's prettier in the autumn,_ Lin conceded.

 _How do you know them?_ she asked her father, _The people who are meeting us?_

 _Rey and Viv?_ Lin smiled.

_Reynaud Joice is a mechanic. He's from Nova Scotia. He travelled with Ken and me for a year. He settled in Norold._

_Viv...Well, Vivian's family has lived in Norold for decades. She and Levi's mother and Faye Hawley were best of friends. She's the only person I ever met that wasn't intimidated by Kenny. Not in the least._

_Who is Faye Hawley again?_

_Faye? Faye is a good soul. She married Kuchel's brother, Gideon. So she is Levi's aunt._

_She's married to Gideon? The brother that caused all of the trouble for you? The one that wrote you the letter?_

_Yes._

_This is confusing,_ Mikasa leaned back, buckling her seatbelt and gesturing to her father to do the same.

_So, Levi can't get us because he's got a broken foot. And Kenny can't get us because he's under house arrest?_

Lin nodded.

_You'll forgive me, but this situation doesn't exactly fill me with optimism._

_Nothing fills you with optimism,_ he signed. But his grey eyes were twinkling. He picked up her hand and squeezed it.

"It's ok, Miggy."

__________

Hawley Acres bustled with holiday cheer. The storefront, a long, converted barn which faced Highway 36 was packed with customers picking up Christmas turkeys, geese, and chicken. They carted away crates of eggs - _the brown ones are more nutritious, George_ \- jars of local honey, syrup and preserves from The Hive; pies from Kirschstein's, cranberry goat cheese and curds from Churchfarm.

Greer Tang hustled up and down the length of the long glass case, serving her friends and neighbours. She chatted with Pucketts, Churches and Rals, hoisting their treasures, wrapped in brown paper, over the counter.

Finally, the flow of customers eased. Greer plopped herself down onto the fraying office chair behind the cash.

"Wow," she sighed.

"I don't know why we do Christmas Market," Farlan grumbled. "It's just a pain in the ass. People can just order online, same as any other time of year."

"You _know_ why," Greer toed her brother with a rubber boot. "It's for the community. It builds goodwill."

"It's touristy," Farlan carped. He'd been planning an afternoon of four-way online rally racing, smoked ribs and beer.

"Farlan. Fuck. Honestly. Do you know how important this really is? People coming from the city to buy from us, and see the farms? Word is spreading that our produce and livestock are safe, that our community is healthy. Our farms are recovering from last spring, and so is our brand."

Farlan felt a twinge of guilt. "Yeah," he flexed his sore muscles, "Yeah, I know."

"The X-Box will still be there after Christmas," Greer finished tartly. "Let's go up to the house for dinner. You guys are staying, right?"

"Yep."

Greer was greeted at the door by Sandra, her six-year-old.

"Mum," Sandra had two plastic barettes in her dark hair, which lit up. "Mumma, Goosey is gone."

"What honey?" Greer stripped off her outdoorsman vest, and unlaced her boots.

"Goosey is gone. The door got opened."

Greer straightened suddenly, staring at Sandra. "San, what door?"

"The goose door."

Greer padded through the house, looking out into the back yard. The chicken-wire pen, where the Hawleys' Christmas goose had resided, was empty.

"Sandra, how did the door get opened?"

Sandra, detecting the edge to her mother's voice, waffled. "I don't know."

"Where is Evie?" Greer asked, referencing Sandra's older sister. "I don't know."

Greer strode downstairs to the renovated basement, finding her husband, Ian Tang, and daughter Evie.

"Evelyn Tang," Greer crossed her arms, "Were you and San playing outside?"

"Yeah,"

"Did you go into the poultry pen?"

Evie looked at her father. Ian looked at Greer.

Greer grimaced. "Oh, no....I remember now...it was me! My mom is going to absolutely shit herself."

"Mummy!" Evie chided.

"I went to feed the goose her corn mush, but the gate wedged shut with snow. I coluld only get it halfway open, so I went into the barn for the shovel. Isabel was in the barn with the load of pies from Kirschstein's. We got chatting and I forgot all about the damn gate..." Greer sighed, exhausted. "I better go find her, before Royal Puckett's dogs get her."

"Evie, I'm sorry I blamed you and San."

"What can I do?" Ian got up off the couch. "I'll come with you."

"It's okay," Greer started back up the stairs, "I'll take Farlan. Keep an eye on the girls, okay?"

__________

The air was cold, pure and silvery. A fine snow crunched beneath Greer's feet as she moved through the windbreak at the western edge of Hawley Acres, her breath puffing out in a frosty cloud.

Behind her, her brother Farlan and her dad Gideon poked at the snow-laden brush.

"How'd you lose a goose that size?" Farlan chuckled, delighted that his sister, the apple of their father's eye, had been the person responsible for the Christmas goose's jailbreak.

"Ssssh!" Greer held up a hand.

"Squoooonk!" said Farlan.

"Do you have to be such a jackass?" Greer snapped.

"If I see it," Gideon promised, "I'm gonna shoot it."

"Great," Greer muttered, "We'll all be spitting out buckshot into the good china."

"I don't see any blood," Greer remained hopeful. Twilight was closing in, painting the winter farmscape blue and purple.

"I don't see any _goose_ , either," Farlan snickered.

Gideon paused, leaning against the split rail fence. He watched his grown children bicker. Greer sombre and irritated, thinking that she'd spoiled the Christmas dinner. Farlan, enjoying every moment of the goose-hunt, and his sister's chagrin.

He smirked, able to read each of them like a book. Because he'd lived with them, on this acreage, since they'd been no longer than his beefy forearm. Because they were his blood...

"Dad!" Greer hissed.

Gideon blinked. There, on the snowy path in front of him, was the Christmas goose. It ambled along uncertainly, having scented the corn mush that Greer had brought along as bait.

Gideon raised his shotgun. The goose pecked at the corn mush in the snow.

"Dad!" Farlan gestured, "Dad, shoot it!"

Gideon froze.

"Dad!" Greer called. " _Take the shot!_ "

_"I'll shoot him..." Gideon flashed back twenty-five years. He'd been smoking behind the Legion Hall, drunk and bragging to Arlo Puckett and Charlie Church. Somehow, the tale of his altercation with Lin and Kenny Ackerman had become conflated in it's retelling, with the bully Gideon revarnished as hometown hero. That night at the Legion, he'd been too inebriated to stand, and leaned against his vintage Mustang. "I will shoot that half-breed...son of a bitch," he'd declared, jabbing a hand in front of him, sloshing Wild Turkey from a bottle. "He ever sets foot on my land again, I will shoot his ass."_

Greer wanted to step forward to cast the fowler's net, but she knew better than to get in front of Gideon's crosshairs.

"Dad!" her voice sharpened with impatience, "Shoot it!"

Gideon's hands began to tremble. Greer threw the fowler's net from the side, unable to snare the goose, but clipping her with the net. Startled, the goose waddled forward, picking up speed, flapping her wings in the frosty air and lifting off the ground.

Gideon ducked.

The goose rose into the pale winter sky, wheeling off toward the escarpment.

Farlan sauntered up to stand beside his sister, who looked incredulously at her fowler's net as though it were woven of swiss cheese.

"We don't clip their _wings_ at Hawley Acres," Farlan drawled sarcastically, "Cruelty-free, free-range _poultry_ at Hawley Acres..."

"Shut the fuck up, Farlan."

Greer approached her father. He leaned against the fence, staring at nothing. With mounting alarm, she noticed that he'd begun to cry.

"Dad, it's okay," she said gently.

He didn't seem to hear her. Farlan joined them, stamping in the cold.

"Dad, you didn't shoot it. How come you didn't shoot it?"

"I..." Gideon's lips were pressed into a thin, pained line. He swallowed. "I...got to tell the two of you, what I done. All of it. What I done, and what I said. Why Levi's dad never came to see him..."

__________

Mikasa wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. A tall, bald, black farmer with a silver beard wasn't it.

The man, Reynaud, held out his arms, booming something at her dad, and weeping openly.

"Hah!" Lin made a delighted sound. He embraced the man, clapping him on the back, and began to sign. It wasn't any dialect Mikasa knew; something alien and whimsical-looking.

 _Jango,_ her dad explained later, _Carnie signing. For when we didn't want outsiders to understand us._

Almost as startling as Reynaud was the chesty, effusive blonde woman, who scooped Mikasa into a hug.

"Viv!" Rey admonished, "Enough!"

"I'm Vivian," the woman was in tears as well. "This is my Rey. We're so happy you're here!"

Mikasa smiled, despite her discomfort at being dragged into the deep end with no preamble.

"Gah," Lin looked around in mild panic. _So many people here. I forgot how many people...._

They'd made the two-hour drive to Norold. Viv chatted animatedly, signing with perfect fluency. Lin responded politely however his buoyancy was fading, trepidation taking it's place.

"So," Mikasa asked their hosts, "Is Levi excited?"

"He's nervous. Anxious." Viv regarded Lin for a long moment. "Damn if he isn't the spit of you, Lin. Right down to the scowl. Mind, he's got our Armin with him, to steady his nerves."

"Armin?"

Viv nodded. "My nephew, Armin. He and Levi live together, now. You'll love him, he's a sweetheart."

"Armin...not Armin Arlert? The environmental engineer?"

"Yes!" Viv said proudly. "The very same!"

 _Dad,_ Mikasa signed. _Armin Arlert. The pilot. From the news, about the Elbow Lake blockade. He's Levi's partner._

Mikasa's curiosity was growing, in spite of herself.

__________

Levi woke. It was a dark, December morning, frigid and windy in farm country. He reached for Armin, pulling his sleepy lover into his arms, nosing against the warm chest. Armin made a small sound of protest as the chill air touched his bare shoulder.

Armin opened his eyes. Levi lay facing him, eyes shining in the dark. Armin surfaced slowly from sleep, remembering. He reached out, cupping the unshaven cheek, stroking the dark hair. He inched forward, kissing Levi's forehead softly, his eyelids, his cheeks.

 _Happy birthday,_ he signed, twirling the sign into one long gesture that encompassed... _mine, my love, and family_.

Levi smiled, hauling Armin close again, cupping one rounded cheek and feeling the delicious press of the boy's groin against his thigh.

"Peach," he slapped Armin's ass gently. "Sexy peach."

 _Happy birthday Levi!_ a text buzzed, _from Greer, Ian, Evie and Sandra._ It was decorated with thirty blinking emojis.

 _Happy birthday, my dear...see you soon xoxo._ Another, from his Aunt Faye.

And then, a knock on the door of the Chapel.

Sighing, Levi roused himself. He glanced at the time. 5:45 a.m.

Armin reached out and touched his leg. _What's happening?_ he signed.

Levi smiled. He limped downstairs in his leg brace, opening the door to a blast of icy air, Farlan, Isabel and little Kiki.

"Happy Birthday!" Farlan grinned. Isabel carried an apple spice cake in an oblong pan, still warm and steamy from the oven.

Farlan glanced up to see Armin sitting on the stairs, dishevelled and smiling in bewilderment. "What's going on?"

"We have a rule in this family," Farlan explained. "No 'Merry Christmas' until we've done Levi's birthday first!"

The young family trundled themselves inside, stamping from the cold.

Levi reached out, accepting Kiki into his arms, all rosy cheeks and snotty nose.

"Cake!" she chirped.

Levi buried her little face in a tissue.

Isabel put on a pot of coffee and brewed tea.

"It's the middle of the night, you guys," croaked Armin. He eased himself the rest of the way downstairs, and pulled out plates and mugs.

"Farm life, boy!" Farlan snapped at Armin's with a tea towel. "Chores every sunrise, even Christmas Day. And it's goin' to be freezing rain later, so we need to crack on."

Isabel lit the candles on the cake. "Thirty-three!" she crowed. "Happy birthday old man!"

__________

Faye Hawley-Church stood in the larder of her kitchen at Hawley Acres, with her phone. It was seven in the morning.

She rang _Peddle's Feed and Seed_ , in Norold.

"Hey," Viv Peddle answered.

"Hey," Faye smiled to herself; she hadn't snuck into the larder to phone Viv since the days when they had a curfew.

"So?"

"I can't wait!" Viv was clearly excited, but containing herself so that her jet-lagged guests could sleep.

"Is he...okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, Faye, wait 'til you see him! I bawled. Just bawled. He's still so handsome. And he's brought his daughter with him. Mikasa."

"What?"

"Mikasa, her name is."

"Levi didn't say he was bringing anyone." Faye frowned.

"Levi doesn't know!" Viv hissed, bursting with excitement. It's a surprise!"

"Oh, my Lord!" Faye leaned against the upright freezer.

"Faye, he's still the same Lin. You know...quirky. Quiet. Still feels overwhelmed in a big crowd."

Faye nodded. "We've done the right thing, then. He and Levi can have a quiet reunion today, over at Churchfarm, before all hell breaks loose...Peddles at Norold, family here from Hawley Acres..."

"So..."

"So, it'll be you and Rey, me, Gideon and the kids, Armin and Levi. Maybe Eren."

"How's Gideon?"

Faye exhaled. "I don't know. A bit odd. Teary. Honestly, Viv, for the first time, he's starting to look old."

"I am just on pins about this," Viv confided.

"You're telling me. But if the feelings are bad...if there's tension...well, Gid will just come back to Hawley and let them visit."

"This is good for Levi. I'm hoping we can all just own what we did...for his sake. Bury the hatchet," said Viv.

"Speaking of hatchets, what about Kenny?"

Viv snorted. "That'll be tomorrow. They can go up to Elbow Lake tomorrow. You know Ken. He'd do anything he could to stir the pot and screw everything up."

Faye sniffled into the phone.

"Oh what?" Viv asked. "Don't you fucking start, now."

"I miss her," Faye poked at a package of pancake mix. "I miss Kiki. So many years wasted. We all could've done better..."

"We were kids, and we were stupid," said Viv with finality. "We're going to do better now."

__________

At ten o'clock in the morning on Christmas Day, the bells began to toll in the town of Church River, Ontario. The peals echoed through the valley, and across the lake.

A lone figure entered the churchyard, stopping in front of a small headstone which was crowned with a carved stone angel. The figure knelt, brushing at the snow that dusted the stone's inscription. He was still for a long while, this stark evidence of her passing erasing any hope that he might see her; that they'd been hiding her away at Churchfarm, perhaps to surprise him. She would embrace him, dark eyes twinkling with mischief, delighting in his palpable relief.

_It's okay, Lin! I'm right here, silly._

He smiled, a tear tracking inward as it meandered down his cheek.

_I know you are with me, everywhere I go._

He reached inside of his coat, removing a small wooden cross, on a piece of twine. It was the only thing he'd rescued from the _F.V. Elora Jane,_ the night she'd run aground on a shoal, off the coast of St. Paul Island in the Bering Sea.

Gently, he placed the cross around the neck of the stone angel.

 _Thank you Kiki,_ he signed. _Thank you for watching over me, and keeping me safe...thank you for bringing me back..._

__________

Levi's behaviour was impossible. He'd needed to do something - anything - to calm his nerves as he waited for midday, but a thick, freezing rain had begun to fall at about nine Christmas morning, and Farlan and Armin had expressly forbade him from limping around the icy yard in his walking cast.

Chores were hampered without the horses; the ice was too slippery to risk injuring them. Farlan called Eren Jaeger, only to find Eren already on his way down from Elbow Lake.

Levi paced, jerking back the curtains to peer out of windows.

Farlan stamped into the big house, jacket cracking with the ice and face flushed red.

"I can't get down the driveway," he huffed. "I can't get the plough down there, it keeps turning sideways on the ice,"

This pulled an aggravated growl out of Levi.

"What?" Farlan snapped, also on edge. "You couldn't do any better, Levi. It'll be fine. We'll sand using the four-wheelers. Don't forget, Rey's truck can handle it."

 _Why today?_ Levi slumped into a kitchen chair.

It took another two hours to fill the holding tanks with milk.

Armin made a tour of the orchard, securing the burlap on the fall grafts.

Hanje called his cel, just before noon.

"Mum!" he ducked into the barn. "Where are you?"

"We're at home now," Hanje replied. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart!"

"Merry Christmas."

"Is Levi's dad there yet?"

"No. Levi's stuck in the house because of his cast and he's having a fit. How are the roads?"

"35 is okay. Snow-covered. 36 is a nightmare. Just have to go nice and slow. Please tell me you're grounded until this clears."

Armin glanced at the steel shed that housed the Cessna. "Of course," he said. "Are you kidding? You guys, too."

"So we'll see you when?"

"Boxing day. Tomorrow. For Viv's brunch."

"We miss you, honey. See you soon."

Armin tapped his phone. The trees, sheathed in ice, clacked and rattled like skeletons in a macabre dance.

__________

Levi calmed down when Gideon, Faye and family arrived. Faye took charge of the kitchen, made her nephew a cup of hot tea and stood, calming hands resting on his shoulders as he sat at the table.

She sat down. _Levi,_ she signed, _stop fretting. Just stop. It's okay._

 _You made it up the driveway_ , Levi signed.

_Of course we did. And we've got a lovely dinner on the go. Everything will be okay._

Armin, Farlan and Eren stumbled in through the back porch then, peeling out of their sopping snow gear.

"All good," Farlan nodded.

Levi sipped at his tea, insides churning. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And another.

He opened his eyes. Armin, hair askew and cheeks still bright red was standing by the fire, chatting with Greer, and warming his hands.

Gideon sat in the armchair, Evie and Sandra each hanging off one of the arms, showing their Grandpa how to use their new Firefly electronic learning game.

Ian Tang was in the kitchen with Isabel and Faye, helping to dress the honey ham they'd gotten from Puckett's, in place of the escaped goose.

It was Christmas Day, and he was with his family. Across the room was Armin, and he was telling a story. Levi recognized every gesture, Armin's own particular flourishes, the dimpled smile just before the punchline. The exquisite sarcasm that Armin could convey. Silly and beautiful and strong. His love.

Armin turned toward him suddenly, mouthing his name. "Levi!"

Levi stood as Armin approached him.

_Levi, the truck is coming..._

Levi hobbled into the porch, shrugging on his coat. He shoved his uninjured foot into a boot, and picked up the cane he'd been using when venturing outdoors.

He stood on the front steps of the Big House with Armin, shaking like a leaf.

Rey's truck chugged slowly up the drive, taking the corner without incident. Then, with a squeal of tires, it skidded sideways at the bottom of the hill.

Armin heard Rey accelerate cautiously, but the pickup truck's tires whined, gaining no traction. "Shit," Armin fretted. "Shit...."

Levi looked at Armin, pained.

"Stuck."

Levi limped forward. Armin was reluctant to let go of his arm. Levi turned then, placing a soft lingering kiss onto his forehead.

"Stay here."

It was surreal to Levi, how slowly the minutes passed. The puff of his breath in the air, the sting on his cheeks. The crash and thud of his heart in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears. He limped forward, the snow sugary, his feet breaking the icy crust.

White; dazzling white everywhere, except for a black spot. A speck, like a crow. It grew into the form of a man; black hair and black coat, stark and surreal against the cavern of snow and ice where the trees overhung the driveway.

Levi limped forward faster. The figure hastened it's approach as well, and something in the man's gait, in how he moved, pulled a forlorn cry of recognition from Levi's lips that neither of them could hear.

Levi loped ahead unsteadily, slipping and stumbling, finally falling.

Strong arms caught him. Grey eyes, bright with tears of anxiety and joy, met his own.

"Ok," Lin nodded, mouthing the words, "Ok, now. I've got you, son."

__________

They stood, arms clasped, weeping, and staring at one another. Lin, marvelling at the solid, fully-grown man with his 8-year-old son's eyes; Levi feeling the years melt away as he studied the lined face, the intense stare, the fine features.

He shook his head, in disbelief. He touched his father's face, a cackle of joy bubbling up. He hugged Lin tightly.

At length, they separated, Levi regaining his balance, and his sensibility. He glanced back at the porch, but Armin was already making his way down to join them. Figures approached over the hill, Viv and Rey. And a girl.

She approached; tentative, respectful, and a little guarded.

Protectively, she took Lin's arm, her eyes only for him, seeking to ensure all was well. Who was she? A travelling companion, perhaps? An assistant?

But no. She was none of those things, and the truth struck Levi like a bolt, even before Lin raised his hands, and signed: _Levi, this is your sister._

Shaking, he raised his hands, signing. _A sister? My sister?_

Mikasa took a step forward, her intention to remain impartial impossible in the face of this man, a younger copy of her father, unabashed tears freezing on his cheeks.

She gave her name-sign, a lifting motion, not unlike a crane in flight. And then she spelled it and spoke it aloud: _Mikasa. Mi-ka-sa._

"Mi...Mikasa. My sister!"

He held his arms out, and embraced her.

Standing back, Levi pulled a fair-haired young man to his side.

"Lin, Mikasa. Here is Armin. My partner, Armin."

"Hello!" Armin signed excitedly and spoke. "It is so wonderful to meet you...we are all so happy..."

"You sign well," Lin responded.

"Come," Armin gestured, "Let's go up to the house."

Armin led the way, pushing off embarrassing kisses from his Aunt Viv, and evading a head-lock from Rey. Lin walked slowly, taking in his surroundings, Levi on one side, Mikasa on the other.

As the driveway made it's final turn, the Big House came into view. Lin stopped, lips pressed grimly together. There was the upstairs porch, outside of the little room where Levi had slept as a child. The outdoor stairway. On the other side of the paddock, the Chapel where he and Kiki had sometimes met in secret.

New steel barns, modern fencing, and a rustic A-frame house on the far side of the orchard.

 _It looks good,_ he signed slowly. _It's yours, Levi?_

Levi nodded. _Our family's, yes. The A-frame, is now Armin's...so much to tell._

They reached the front steps. Lin swallowed. He stood, looking at both of his children.

 _Dad, it's okay,_ Mikasa signed.

Lin mounted the steps, flanked by his children. He knocked on the door.

Lin had been wondering if Gideon Church would be at the Big House. What on earth would happen? Then, the door opened, and there he stood.

He was older, grey-haired; no longer the bellicose bully that Lin remembered. He seemed shrunken, diminished.

And, he was visibly in distress. He was supported by two young people, flaxen-haired, like Faye. He regarded Lin with rheumy eyes, pursing his lips nervously.

The young woman standing beside him, jostled him gently. She began a sign, as if to prompt him. _Hello, Lin....._

 _Hello, Lin,_ Gideon Church signed, slowly and carefully, _I am sorry...for the terrible wrong I did to you. I'm sorry for..._

He looked at the young woman again, for help:

_...for the pain I caused you, and for keeping your son from you. I want to make amends for what I did. I hope you can forgive me._

He turned to the young woman, introducing her: "My daughter, Greer." Greer held out her hand, which Lin accepted.

"And here's my boy, Farlan. This is his house now."

The young man was pale and thin, but he had a huge smile, and tears in his eyes. "Hi, Mr. Woodman. Welcome."

Lin inclined his head, placing an arm proudly around Mikasa. "My daughter," he said hoarsely. He paused, terrified of embarrassing her with his poor enunciation, "Mikasa."

"Hi," Mikasa inclined her head.

Gideon Church held out his hand then, in formal apology. After a long moment, Lin accepted it, and they shook.

"Good grief, Gideon!" Faye called from the hallway, "Let the poor man in!"

The door opened wide, welcoming Lin Woodman to Churchfarm.

He stepped over the threshold, accepting the warm presence of Churchfarm's spirits, and leaving it's demons in the past.


	24. The Caravan

_I used to think that being Deaf sentenced one to poverty,_ Lin signed.

Levi paused, frowning at his father. He wasn't used to Lin's way of communicating past tense. Finally, he nodded.

_Ah. And now?_

_Not now. I think signed dialects are the richest and most vibrant language there is._

They stood in the south barn, stamping in the cold. The cows jostled, impatient to crowd inside where there was warmth and a treat. They pressed against the intake rails, which shuddered.

Levi looked up at Lin. His father's lined face was inquisitive beneath the wool toque he wore.

 _Do you..._ Levi signed tentatively, _Do you hear anything? Loud noises? Vibrations? Like the cows banging against the intake?_

Lin considered the question. The milking station thrummed to life, and Levi carefully hooked it up to the first four animals. He tapped the monitor, and the statistics for each cow in his herd flickered onscreen.

 _I think I feel sounds_ , Lin replied at length. _I feel vibration; in my jaw and ears maybe. In my feet. My bones. For example, with a boat engine. I can figure out what's the matter, usually by rhythm. Pattern. Does that make sense?_

Levi nodded. _Same._

He beckoned Lin forward. _Look, dad. See onscreen? All of Aida's info is here. Milk yield, her medical history, her customized diet. The information not only allows us to maximize milk production, but the data helps keep her healthy and comfortable. At the feed hopper, she will get a mineral mix specific to her needs. See? Dad?_

Lin was watching, but the details were lost upon him, suffused in a sweet warmth. Levi had called him 'dad'.

__________

"His name's Remus," Eren Jaeger introduced his favourite patient to Mikasa Edo-Woodman.

"Remus, as in Romulus and Remus, and the founding of Rome?"

Eren smiled, looking at her, feeling his cheeks redden pleasantly.

"Well, no," he clarified. "Remus as in Remus Carver Church, who bit off Amos Puckett's ear at the auction barn during the Second World War, in a dispute over the price of a hog."

Mikasa laughed. "You can't make this stuff up,"

Eren stroked a hand along the donkey's flank, murmuring soothingly to him. "Poor old boy," he said, "Colder than snowman piss out there, eh?"

"He has a cute face," Mikasa stepped forward.

Eren laughed aloud. "Don't be fooled, Mikasa! He is ornery, and clever, and he has a long memory. Just like Levi."

"Like my dad as well."

Mikasa removed her mitten. She reached into her pocket, extracting a carrot. "Can he have this?"

Eren's green eyes widened in alarm. "Yeah, yeah he can but be careful..."

Nodding, Mikasa broke off a piece of carrot, laid it flat in her palm and offered it to Remus. Before Eren could intercede, the donkey craned his neck, sniffing at her curiously. He chomped at a strand of long, black-and-purple hair.

"Manners," said Mikasa quietly, holding the carrot under the donkey's nose. Remus snorted, gobbling the treat off of her hand. He tried to sample her hair again, nostrils flaring curiously.

Eren exhaled. Clearly, Remus was in a fairly good mood.

Mikasa raised her hand slowly, allowing the donkey to see it. She blew gently against his nose, allowing him to pick up her scent. Then, she stroked the brown muzzle.

"You're such a good boy, aren't you?"

Eren shook his head. "I think he's got a little crush," he said shyly.

__________

Dave the cat had had a busy night. He'd wandered over to the big house, made huge eyes at Isabel and had been rewarded with a few scraps of ham from the Christmas dinner. Then, he'd trotted by the stone chapel, noting with some dismay that nobody was home. He'd finally alighted on top of the stall rail in the south barn, crouching and looking down at Levi and Lin.

Levi had glanced up at his cat. "Dave," he said, lifting up a hand. Dave inched forward, for a scratch.

 _His name is Dave..._ Levi told Lin and then looked down, feeling a little awkward. They hadn't discussed the cat image that had become a motif between them, nor the nocturnal visits Lin had paid to Levi as a child.

Dave.

Lin nodded, apparently pleased. _Dave. My cat is black too, and called Dave too. It comes from 'Davey'. In America, a cat image placed outside a house indicates that the house is friendly to itinerant travellers. Hobos, carnies. We call it a 'Davey'._

Levi didn't respond immediately. He lifted the animal down from the ledge, and Dave butted his head against Levi's chin.

Lin held out a hand.

Levi set Dave down. _You brought me a cat toy. A black cat, and you called it Dave. I always kept it. Isabel tried to fix it up, for Kiki..._

_I'm sorry._

Levi looked up, into the eyes as grey as his own.

 _Levi, I am sorry._ _The way I tried to connect with you, was the wrong way. To sneak into a small child's room, that was not right. Your family was justified in being upset by that._

Levi sucked in a breath, stock still.

_I don't think I understood this until I had Mikasa. I was more mature, I suppose. I could not imagine walking into her room and finding a person there. Any person. I made things so much worse with the Church family than they had to be._

_I liked it when you came,_ Levi responded. _We ate Pringles out of a tin. We made bracelets out of string._

A small, nostalgic smile touched Lin's lips.

_Kenny taught me that we were unwanted. That we were outside of society, outside of community. That we would never be accepted, by anyone other than our own kind. He came by that viewpoint honestly. We were mostly unwanted. Marginalized. My behaviour...was a function of that belief._

He sat on an overturned milk carton.

_I'm still not very good with people. I don't like crowds. I can't manage routine. I can't stay still very long. I'm not domestic. But I know what love is. Love is not what we feel. Love is what we do. I've done so many things badly. It's much harder to be loving, than to feel love._

Levi sat down beside Lin. _That's a heavy thought for this early in the morning._

_I also don't make small talk very well._

Levi laughed.

_Levi, we have each loved a person that was unwell. A person that came into our lives, knowing before we met them, that their time was limited. Your mother..._

He stopped, dropping his hands, lips compressed in pain.

_Kiki was…authentic, immediate. She was unselfish, but she had a very clear vision of who she was. Such a person teaches us how to lower our guard, how to brush the chip off our shoulder. How to savour and feel and embrace...how to live. You and I have this in common._

_My husband Erwin, was exactly like that._

Lin turned slightly, facing his son. "Levi," he mouthed his son's name. _They're here, and then they're gone. And it's terrible. Loss changes us forever. It still hurts, but it's made me a better person. When Mikasa's mother came into my life...well, it was the first time I felt as though I had something to offer…something to contribute. I'm doing a terrible job of that too, but for some reason she loves me._

_Erwin touched everyone's life, for the better. He taught me how to lead, when I didn't want to. He taught me how to co-exist with another person. I think he was in my life for a reason. After he died, I closed up. My heart was full of ice, frozen. Over time, it began to thaw. Like the spring thaw, in the river. I wanted not only to live, but to live well. Fully. And then…_

_And then Armin._

Levi smiled, a soft light deep in his eyes. _And then Armin. Despite my sour disposition, he announced himself, fearlessly and awkwardly, and I was lost. I think I was lost from day one, but I don't tell anybody that._

Lin nudged Levi's shoulder. _You just told me._

__________

Kenny Ackerman was likely bring his own brand of mayhem to the family visit, three days after Christmas. It wouldn't matter. Levi had been reunited with his father Linwood, and his sister Mikasa. As Lin had no patience for small talk, the conversations had been fruitful, and authentic.

Lin's narrative had given Levi much to mull over, and he was uncharacteristically still on the drive across the ridge to Elbow Lake.

Lin, in the back seat, was equally taciturn, staring out at the frozen fields; shorn rows of corn sticking like blackened nubs out of the white drifts.

Mikasa drove, glancing in the rear-view mirror at her father and sidelong at her brother.

She jabbed at Levi with a finger, turning her head. "I feel like I am driving both of you to the gallows," she mouthed.

Her brother, whom she learned was very adept at lip reading, nodded wryly. "Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. I'm curious." she tapped at the wipers, clearing road grime from the windscreen. "Where's Armin today?"

"At Peddles'. He's in the doghouse for not spending much time there over the holidays. He's over there visiting with his moms.

"Does Armin know my uncle Kenny well?"

Levi laughed, a sound like a coyote bark which Mikasa enjoyed.

"Oh, yes. Armin will tell you all about it. Kenny is a medicinal cannabis farmer. Armin helped himself to a sample, and got caught like a rabbit in a carrot patch..."

Mikasa turned off Highway 36, heading east. Signs dotted the side of the highway, many of them spray-painted. STOP ILLEGAL DUMPING NOW, one read. INDIGENOUS KIDS ARE SICK TOO stated another.

The road wound up across the ridge. The morning snowfall had hardened into a thin sleet, hissing and tapping at the car windows.

Elbow Lake First Nation was demarcated by a cedar arch over the roadway. This was now flanked on either side by a metal shed, and, in stark contrast to the Christmas lights strung merrily across the barns in the valley, barbed wire was looped over top of it. A wooden barricade, with plastic reflectors screwed to it, barred their way.

Mikasa peered through the windscreen at the gate. A figure emerged from one of the metal sheds. Tall, garbed in a camouflage snowmobile suit against the cold, wearing a black balaclava with a strapped-on service revolver.

"Jesus," breathed Mikasa. She pressed a button, rolling down her window.

The figure leaned down, looking into the car. Through the eyeholes in the balaclava, two serious brown eyes peered at her.

The figure drew off a glove and pushed up the wool face mask, to reveal a stark, freckled face.

"Levi," the figure nodded.

"Ymir," Levi replied.

"Who's with you today?"

Mikasa had had enough of being talked around.

"I'm Mikasa Edo-Woodman," she said abruptly. "This is my father, Lin Woodman."

The gate officer favoured her with a long, measured glance. "I'm Constable Crow," she said. "This is Elbow Lake, Anishinaabe First Nation. We are asking visitors to assist us in preventing illegal dumping of toxins onto our land. Are you willing to register your vehicle with us?"

"What does that entail?" Mikasa asked.

"It means that we record your license plate and you receive a pass from us, confirming that you are not transporting toxins or banned substances into Elbow Lake. It also means that you consent to a vehicle search under the guidelines of Transport Canada."

Mikasa nodded.

She pulled over to the side of the road, and was handed a clipboard. Russ, her colleague at the newspaper, had not been exaggerating. Elbow Lake First Nation, mired in red tape by the Provincial Government, had taken matters into their own hands.

__________

 _Ken-a-Bis_ read the sign which hung over the long, metal building. There were three buildings in total, surrounded by a chain-link fence. At the far end of the compound was a modest but well-appointed cedar-panelled bungalow.

Lin got out of the vehicle, eyeing the little house warily.

He looked at Levi.

Levi took the lead, loping up the steps and knocking on the door. It swung open.

Kenny Ackerman sat in an old leather chair, by a window overlooking the lake. Hearing his guests arrive, he stood, slightly stooped, one hand on the back of the chair.

He saw Levi first. "Oh," he said. "It's you."

Levi shook his head, biting his tongue. He reminded himself that any attempt on his part to smooth the waters would undoubtedly result in Kenny antagonizing everyone for his own entertainment.

"We brought you a ham, from Puckett's," said Levi. "And a bottle."

"Well, give it here."

Levi stepped forward, handing Kenny the bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. He set the ham on the counter.

Kenny spotted the slight figure in the doorway then. He inhaled sharply. Grinned. Made an elaborate show of holding out both hands, and signing, in carnie jango: _Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in!_

Lin stepped into the room, gazing up at his brother. Derision had carved sardonic lines in Kenny's long face. He had not mellowed with age.

 _Kenny,_ Lin scribed his name sign.

Then, a tall girl squeezed past Lin; brown-eyed, with dark, purple-tipped hair and a strong jawline.

Kenny was intrigued. "Who're you?"

Mikasa strode up to the tall, gaunt figure, regarding him fearlessly. "I'm your niece." She crossed her arms across her chest.

Kenny peered into her face, nodding. He glanced at Lin, then back at the fierce girl.

"Ain't you just," A slow, approving grin split his thin visage, like a jack-o-lantern. "Got a name?"

"Mikasa."

"You a Japanese?"

Levi cringed.

"You tell me," she responded bluntly. "I hear I'm part Seminole, too."

The side door of Kenny's house banged open, and shut again. "Ken?" a voice called.

The tall, freckled Constable from the blockade entered the room.

With her was a diminutive blonde, tiny inside of a puffy down jacket.

"Hiya!" the smaller girl chirped happily, cutting the tension, "You must be Kenny's brother!"

Kenny turned then, his face softening. "These," he gestured toward the two young women, "these are my girls. This is Ymir,"

"We've met," Mikasa said crisply.

"...and this here is Mr. Rice. She's my…my business manager, and she sees our Ymir, now."

"Reiss," the blonde girl corrected, angelic dimples appearing. "Historia Reiss. It's so great to meet you!"

Historia strode forward, greeting Kenny's guests.

Ymir stood in front of Kenny protectively, eyeing Mikasa.

"So," she said, looking Mikasa up and down, "What? You're a student?"

"Journalist," Mikasa held her gaze.

"Huh," said Ymir. "Really. So, journalist, you get a nice eyeful of angry Indians today?"

"This blockade," Mikasa said evenly, "is not news to me. We've heard about it out west."

"Wowee. We've gone national."

"You're pretty quick to throw away an ally," Mikasa remarked, standing nose-to-nose with the Constable.

Kenny Ackerman hooted in delight. "Girls, girls! Come on now, it's Christmas..."

"Are you here in a professional capacity?" Ymir asked.

Mikasa's belly tingled. She'd been wanting to include the Elbow Lake Blockade in her story. "Maybe," she said carefully. "Do you want me to be?"

Ymir looked at Historia, and back at Mikasa. "How would you like to see what is really going on here?" she asked carefully.

Mikasa nodded. "On the record?"

"On the record. Let's leave these guys to catch up." Ymir zipped her coat back up. "Come on. You too, Levi."

Levi looked at Kenny, then at Linwood.

"Git!" Kenny jerked his head toward the door.

__________

Kenny Ackerman fetched two glasses from his sideboard, pouring a shot of whiskey into each. He gestured for Lin to sit, placing a glass onto the coffee table. He settled himself back into his leather chair, regarding his younger brother.

Lin was older, black hair shot with silver. His manner was settled, unhurried. He no longer slouched, furtive and fearful, trying to melt into the background. He was poised, watchful, calm.

"Well," Kenny spoke, and signed; a deep dialect he and Lin had shared - part ASL, part jango. "Lucky me. Here you are, on my doorstep, gracing my living room. A grateful soul, I am. I mean, I'm what? The eighth person on your visitation list? Your own, full-blooded brother? Well, I'm honoured you could find the time!" he finished with a sarcastic flourish.

Lin lifted the tumbler, sipping carefully, watching Kenny.

Lin's composure irked Kenny. "I mean, well! This Christmas season, we're all beholden to Gideon Church for this reunion, aren't we, eh? Gideon Church, opening his chubby arms, with _thank-yous_ , and _bless-yous_ and praise _Jee-zus_ , Linny Ackerman is allowed to set foot in Church River once again! Well, _hallelujah_ , lucky me!"

Kenny tipped back his tumbler, finishing it is one swallow, and pouring himself another.

 _That isn't what happened, exactly,_ Lin signed patiently.

_You couldn't come see me? I waited three days here, you couldn't come? I mean that little to you?_

_I'm here now._

Kenny looked up, studying Linwood. "You speak?" he asked at length.

Lin smiled awkwardly. Swallowed. "Nah, not really," he said. "Bad, same as before."

The familiar, messy sounds pierced Kenny's heart and he smiled, genuine and warm.

"Damn it," Tears welled in his eyes, "Damn it, you dumb-ass. Been around the world, fancy art painter an' you still can't string a sentence together, Mister Marble-Mouth?"

"I don' know," Lin shrugged. "I don't care."

"C'mere."

Lin stood up, crossing the floor.

Kenny rose, placing his hands onto his brother's shoulders. "C'mere, you dumb little shit," Tears spilled down his cheeks. _You well? You not sick?_

Lin shook his head. _Not sick._

_Good. Look at you. You look good. So smart. You're the only good thing I was ever part of. I did one good thing in my whole life, and you're it._

He pulled Lin close, and, if his heart was not brimming with forgiveness, it was at least filled with relief.

__________

Constable Crow's little shadow Jackson Smoke was twelve years old. He'd been planning to start grade seven with a new tooth, to fill the gap in his wide smile. However, near the end of summer, the little boy had developed a persistent rash on his face, bleeding gums and cold sores. He'd begun junior high morose, withdrawn and in pain.

Mikasa Ackerman sat tentatively on the couch, beside Jackson, in the aluminium-sided bungalow he shared with his brothers Kyle and Benj, his mother, and occasionally his father.

Jackson slouched down into his used Toronto Raptors sweatshirt, too self-conscious to do more than glance sidelong at the pretty girl with the purple hair.

'Mikasa,' Ymir had introduced her, 'from out west. She's a writer.'

He thumbed idly at his brother Benj's phone.

"You like Pokemon Go?" Mikasa asked.

Jackson scratched at his itchy cheek. He shrugged.

"Are there Pokemon around here?" Mikasa pulled out her own phone. She bent her head, loading the app.

Jackson looked over at her.

"You have to go past the point at Tack Bay," Jackson said quietly.

Mikasa waited.

Jackson turned a little. He studied her face. "You're from BC. You Haida?"

Mikasa shook her head. "My mum is Japanese, my Nana was Seminole."

Gathering his courage, Jackson added, "I like your hair."

Mikasa smiled. "Thank you. I heard you're the best tracker here."

Jackson grinned.

Benj Smoke entered then. "Jack, I gotta go."

Jackson glanced up.

"C'mon," Benj said sternly. "My phone. Give it here."

With an elaborate sigh, Jackson relinquished the phone.

"Go put your cream on your face now, you forgot."

Mortified at having attention called to the ugly rash, Jackson stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

__________

"Seventeen kids, nine adults," Benj informed Mikasa stonily, walking along the side of the road, away from his modest home and toward the Elbow Lake Police Detachment.

"Rashes, mouth issues, respiratory infections. Most of the farmers in the dairy belt got to claim through farmer's health insurance. For us, it's different. We're dependent upon public health care, so it's long wait times, sometimes we can't get in to see specialists for months, sometimes not at all.

Likewise, our class action suit is a separate filing, and unlike the farm belt, we've been a dumping ground for multiple developers, and also chemical waste from the north. Before Zeke became Chief, deals were made with other nations further north, to take mining waste, for a payout. Zeke has rescinded these agreements, but the trucks keep coming.

We finally put a stop to it ourselves. We got cleanup guys starting, as soon as spring thaw comes. Marley Envirotech. They're Metis from Manitoba, their crew chief is a big half-Norwegian guy called Reiner Braun. We've applied for funding, but the government is more interested in funding an Olympic bid than in sick Indians.

Mikasa tapped her phone, turning off the recording.

"Thank you," she said. "Can we speak again later?"

The dark eyes flashed. "We'll keep talking until somebody listens."

Benj excused himself, and entered the cinderblock building. Ymir came out, gesturing Mikasa to follow.

"You know our vet? Eren?"

Mikasa nodded, lips pressed together.

"I'll take you to his clinic now. He can explain how the sickness in the animals is being documented to help our case..."

__________

Whatever puddle the puppy had waded into, had burned the pads of his paws. Eren Jaeger had treated the burns, collected lab samples and lathered the little feet with antibiotic paste.

Mikasa held the puppy, and he squirmed delightedly, lapping at her face.

"Will he be okay?"

Eren nodded. "Yeah, he's gonna be fine. I'm trying to get people to leash their dogs, but dogs here have always run free. So stuff like this happens."

Mikasa lowered the puppy carefully into his crate, giving him a treat.

"It sounds," she said, "like your brother is making a difference here. He's a lawyer?"

Eren nodded. "Yeah. Lawyer, Band Chief, Healer, Bottle-Washer..."

The walked outdoors, and along the ridge line. "Are you close?"

Eren sighed, shrugging. "No. We're more like oil and water. We have different moms. My dad's first wife was from this band, and Zeke was raised here. My mom Carla's from Norold. My parents live there now, that's where my dad has his practise."

"He's a vet, too?"

"No, a family physician."

"You see them much?"

Eren didn't answer for quite some time. "I think," he said at length, "I have the misfortune of not feeling really strong blood bonds...I mean, I get along okay with my parents, but it's like I also feel at a distance?"

Mikasa nodded. "I'm exactly like my mom and so all the things I can't stand about myself, irritate me in her." She laughed.

"I didn't know my dad properly until I was in my teens. Long story. But I adore him. He's an incredible person."

"Like Levi," said Eren. "Levi understands me better than many people. I like being at Churchfarm. Farlan and Jean Kirschstein from the diner and me...we did everything together as kids. Still do. It makes me feel…like I belong somewhere, you know?"

A chill wind gusted up the ridge, needling through Mikasa's jacket and poking icy fingers into her ears.

"Shit," she muttered, "It's way colder here than in Vancouver."

Eren stopped walking, and considered her. He unwound the dark red muffler he wore, looping it carefully around her neck, ears and chin.

"There," he said, "Now you're warm and you smell like wet puppy."

She smiled inside of the scarf. It was toasty warm, and didn't smell like puppy; rather it had a masculine musk clinging to it.

"Thank you, that's nice of you," She stepped closer. Then, impulsively, she stood on her toes and gave a soft kiss to the boy that didn't belong anywhere.

__________

"Armin," Aunt Viv shook him awake in the dark. "Armin!"

He stirred, murmuring. Opened sleepy blue eyes.

"Armin, come on now," she whispered. "Get up!"

Coming to his senses, Armin sat up slowly. "Aunt Viv? What's the matter?"

"Sssh. Don't wake your moms. They've both got colds, let them sleep. Just get yourself up, get your warm things on."

"Why?"

"'Cause," she wore a green hunting vest over a padded flannel work shirt. "Just get up, Sunshine. Boots, coat, hat."

She left the room. Armin blinked after her, swinging his legs slowly over the side of the pull-out couch where, up until a few moments ago, he'd been slumbering peacefully. He'd spent an enjoyable, late December day at Peddle's Feed and Seed, with Hanje and Rico, Viv and Rey.

Conversely, Viv's guests Lin and Mikasa had stayed at Churchfarm, in the Stone Chapel.

Armin missed Levi, was intensely curious about the family visit to Elbow Lake, but had had to appease his own family with an overdue visit.

He dressed, hearing Rey laugh softly down in the kitchen. He padded downstairs to find Rey and Viv, a large outdoorsman's bag and, over Viv's shoulder, an axe.

Armin stopped in the doorway, a glove in each hand. He frowned. "What...is going on?" he demanded.

Rey gave him a broad, toothy grin. "Get in the truck."

"Why?"

Vivian whacked his backside. " _Why, why, why._..still the same as when you were three."

Rey, Vivian and Armin drove through Church River. The town was silent, holiday-card pretty beneath a blanket of fresh snow and a full moon. Rey pulled into the Tim Horton's parking lot, went in and emerged with a gallon jug of hot coffee, and a bag of paper cups.

They continued north on Highway 36, to Churchfarm. Farlan had managed to plow the driveway, and the truck tires squeaked and crunched on the snow.

In front of the big house, Farlan's truck idled, brake lights casting pink cones of light onto the snow.

Armin frowned, looking around. Then, the truck door opened, and Faye Hawley Church plopped herself onto the seat beside him.

"Hi, Sweetie!" she greeted him brightly.

"Hi," Armin said warily. "Where's Levi?"

"Oh," Faye pulled a mickey out of her coat pocket, "He's already gone on ahead, with his dad. Farlan's bringing the rest of them."

Armin frowned. "Does everybody know where we are going, except for me?"

Faye took a swig from her flask, and passed it to Armin. "Here you go. Get a swallow of this down you, honey." Normally reserved, Faye snickered. "Armin, you need to learn to relax a little!"

She reached forward, tapping Vivian on the shoulder. "Hey. Remember when we rolled Gideon's car down the driveway in neutral, and it rolled backwards and my foot got stuck!"

"Yep," said Viv. The two old friends chortled

"Where is Gideon?" Armin wanted to know.

"At home babysitting the grand-babies, where he belongs," Faye giggled.

__________

They'd arrived at an open field, on the edge of the Church River Fairgrounds. The field was sheltered from the wind on two sides by thick rows of evergreens; these dotted the clearing at intervals.

In the middle of the clearing, stood a tinker-style caravan. It was mostly silver, with an odd patchwork of paint. It had festive, striped awnings and multi-coloured Chinese lanterns strung across it. There was a service window, with a garish, backlit sign which proclaimed Popcorn! Hotdogs! Cotton Candy!

Standing in front of the caravan, studying it, was Levi.

Armin jumped out of the truck, plodding through the ankle-deep snow. Levi smiled at him, and held out his arms. He nuzzled his cold, small nose against Armin's neck, and kissed him tenderly.

 _Nobody would tell me where we were going,_ he signed to Armin.

_Me neither!_

_Would you look at this thing?_ he signed. _Amazing!_

 _It smells like popcorn,_ Armin signed hopefully, breath a frosty puff in the winter darkness. _Is there actually popcorn?_

Levi took Armin's hand, and joined Lin, who was engaged in an animated debate with Reynaud Joice.

 _It was here!_ Lin signed, pointing to a spot on the ground.

 _No, it wasn't,_ argued Rey, _It was just over there, the other side of that big rock._

 _What?_ asked Levi.

 _Our fire pit,_ Lin signed. _We always made our campfire in exactly the same spot, every year, when we came to set up the County Winter Fair, the Maple Syrup Fair, the Church River Fall Fair…always here!_

Rey shook his head.

Then, a deep voice over his shoulder: "No Rey, it weren't there, it's here, where Linny says."

Kenny Ackerman walked into the clearing, with Ymir Crow and Historia Reiss.

"It wasn't there," he repeated, "That's where that picnic table was. It was right here, if you give a few kicks I bet you find the grate. And I know it, 'cause thirty paces that way, there's the axe tree. You see?"

"Axe tree?" Armin muttered, squeezing Levi's hand.

Rey puzzled this out for a few minutes, then nodded laughing. "Ken, you're right..." he strode across the clearing, clasping Kenny Ackerman by the arm.

"Where's the Chinaman?" Kenny looked around.

The caravan belonged to a pyrotechnician named Sebastian Ho. He was small, energetic and wiry and had more than a few scars, which were hazards of his trade. He'd travelled with Conklin Shows for two decades, and was an old friend of Kenny, Lin and Rey. And he had the coolest carnie caravan Armin had ever seen.

__________

At around one thirty in the morning, in a field at the edge of the Church River Fairground, a campfire crackled cheerfully. Around it sat a small group of former itinerant carnival workers, who'd been friends for thirty-five years.

They reminisced, passed around flasks of whiskey and brandy, and a small pipe of party favours supplied by Kenny.

They were ringed by their younger family members, who took in the proceedings with interest, and with dawning understanding. 

"I thought Viv was taking me into the woods to hunt Bigfoot," Armin told Farlan, sipping gratefully at the steaming hot coffee. "With an axe."

The group pulled benches and overturned crates closer to the fire. Sebastian Ho served them steamed hotdogs and treats.

By the light of the fire, Armin and Levi watched conversations unfold. Lin signed, emphatic and staccato, mixing concepts with playful nonsense. Kenny spoke while signing in jango to Rey, causing Rey to laugh uproariously.

Armin was buzzed, a sweet mix of brandy and coffee swimming in his belly. "I am fucking lost," he mused. "Like…I thought I was a quick study but I'm missing half of this."

"Hey," Kenny Ackerman was looking at him, where he sat cuddled next to Levi. "Listen up! You all listen, now."

The group hushed, and Kenny spoke over the crackle of the fire. "This here, is our circle. These are our people. Don't matter what the blood is. Black, white, Iroquois. Makes no difference, see? This is a family. We don't spend Sundays in Church or nights at the Legion Hall, but this here, this is our gathering place.

Levi, you don't have your mom anymore. Everyone here, misses her. Everyone. Kuchel knew how to be alive. She first came here to meet up with a boy, our Lin. She brought her two buddies, and they were nothing but trouble then, and they still are.

Vivian and Faye snickered.

They were decent and kind girls, just like Ymir here, and Mr. Rice here. And Mikasa and Greer and Isabel.

Now, where we come from..."

"Enough!" Levi said roughly. Heads turned to look at him.

He signed, and spoke. "Enough, Ken. What will you say? What are you going to tell us? I listened to all of this before. I listened to it for hours. You talked about my father. About this life, and about Florida. And then...I find out...none of what you said was true..."

Levi's face was pained. He stood, disengaging gently from Armin. "I wrote a book, _from my heart,_ which I thought was non-fiction. And it wasn't even true! _Rain on Roots_ was not fact! And it cost me a year of my life rewriting it. All I ever wanted, was to know where I came from..." Impossibly, awkwardly, he began to cry.

Faye walked over, an arm going around the child she had raised.

 _Levi,_ Lin encouraged, _Levi, please sit..._

"I don't want to hear it."

"Siddown!" Kenny jabbed a finger at the log Levi had been occupying. He exchanged a long look with Lin.

He cleared his throat, holding out his hands. He studied the backs of them; long, skeletal fingers, whorled flesh at the knuckled.

Then, he signed, speaking as well. "Levi, everything I told you...every story, every anecdote...those things were all true. They all happened. Thing is...many of them, didn't exactly happen to Lin and me. So many odd stories...these things happened to friends, to other carnies we knew. The truth is, most of the time, Lin and me didn't have much to laugh about. We were raised up in a bad place, and we went through some horrible times, and that don't belong in any book, anywhere.

Your grandad was called Linwood as well. Linwood, and he was french Creole. Your grandma was Mabel Turner, and she was Creek Seminole. It was a hard life. I was a bad kid from the get-go, so they gave up on me and pinned all their hopes on the baby. I spent most of our childhood getting between them and the baby, because baby was Deaf, and he cried, and he was odd, and they beat him. They didn't want him, and they gave him away, twice. They'd have beat him worse, if not for me. But that's for another day, and Mikasa and Levi, there's still Ackermans and Turners down there I'm sure, if you're ever so inclined to find them, be my guest, but I'm never going back.

When Linny was fourteen, we jumped a train and ended up in North Carolina, working with Midway South Shows. We travelled all around the south. Seb Ho's dad, Leviticus, helped us to get our papers - passports, ID, work permits, that sort of thing. He was called Levi for short. First person ever kind to us. He helped Linny to finish his school lessons and sit for his diploma in Charlotte. Then, we come to Canada with Conklin Shows.

We met Rey in Canada. He comes from Nova Scotia, which you all know. I watched my friend Rey take on a farm, and even have the courage to take on Vivian Peddle. I got to thinking, maybe there's a place for me somewheres, too. And there is, and it's here, with the Bear Clan, and with Ymir and Benj and their families.

You all don't got to like me. You don't have to be best buddies with me. But Levi, I am done with you and me being at odds all the damn time. I'm sorry. Your mum is gone, but your dad, he's still here, and this is his history. We wanted to make you a surprise, for your birthday, to show you how it was when we camped, and how it was when your mum and daddy met.

Now what I just said is either good enough, or it's not, but it's all I got."

Levi looked around the clearing. Faces, orange and yellow in the firelight, regarded him. His aunt and cousins; his dad and sister, Armin's family.

He swallowed, raising his hands slowly. "It's a good start for me," he nodded at Kenny.

"Good," said Kenny. He pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket, laying it on a stump, and stabbing it with his bowie knife. He looked at Viv Peddle. "Can you still handle an axe?" he grinned unevenly, "Or y'all need granny glasses now?"

__________

Armin had managed to sample everything that Seb Ho had to offer in his caravan; buttered popcorn, cotton candy, four hotdogs, and two taffy apples.

He'd watched with keen interest as his Aunt Viv and Kenny Ackeman competed at axe throwing, the hatchet flying at hummingbird speed out of Viv's left hand to lodge in the centre of the target. He wondered if the ladies at the Lions' Club knew about this.

He watched Eren Jaeger, engrossed in conversation with Levi's sister, Mikasa. She was wearing Eren's barn scarf, a fact which was not lost on Armin.

Isabel and Greer were inside of the caravan, their heads poking out of the windows to describe the wonders they'd found inside.

Then, Levi was by his side, tugging on his hand. They walked a little way from the campfire, standing at the edge of the light.

Levi embraced Armin, pulling the wool cap off of his head and kissing the bright hair, breathing in the sweet warmth. "I love you, boy."

He sought out Armin's mouth, sticky and cherry red from taffy apple, and kissed him deeply. "I love you so very much."

"I have had quite a few ciders," Armin confessed conspiratorially.

Levi reached down, playfully squeezing Armin's backside. "I know that," he nipped at the chilly earlobe.

"I love you too," Armin hiccuped. Hold me up."

"I will never let you go."

__________

_She'd come to see him, at the fire. There were a number of trailers, including Leviticus and Seb Ho's caravan. She'd been four months pregnant, and taken to wearing big, folksy blouses, shorts and sneakers. Her dark hair was piled in a high ponytail. She'd taken his hand, placing it against her belly. His eyes had widened in amazement, as he felt the tiny kick._

_"A boy," Kuchel had told Linwood, "your son."_

_Can his name be 'Levi'? Lin had spelled the name out carefully. Levi is the first person that was ever kind to Kenny and me._

 


	25. Come To The Fair

Miss Edith Hoover had booked Kirschstein's Diner to host a tea in honour of her "very dear friend", Miss Ida Puckett. Edith and Ida had met as Red Cross volunteers, and each had served four tours of duty overseas.

Edith had donated her uniform to the Legion on Brock Street, along with the original camera she'd used to take over three-hundred photographs, spanning her service from the Korean War through to the Gulf War.

The ladies were eighty-five and eighty-seven years of age respectively. Neither had ever taken a husband, despite an array of suitors. They shared a comfortable home on Simcoe Street, in Church River. They had a collection of cats, were avid lawn bowlers and taught First Aid at the Deaf Community Centre in Norold on Wednesdays.

It was understood, although rarely discussed, that Ida was the love of Edith's life, and that the tea on the ninth of January was to celebrate their sixtieth anniversary.

Jean Kirschstein had decided that everything had to be absolutely perfect.

He'd risen at four-thirty that morning, making his way down the dark, icy corridor that was Brock Street mid-winter. He's entered the Diner through the back door, stamping his feet to warm himself. His pastry kitchen was in the basement, beside a huge old boiler furnace that squeaked and moaned, missing Rollie Stroud's expert adjustments.

Jean had made strudel; ghost thin and miraculously stretched, filled with brandied peaches and ginger. He'd made tiny stuffed cornish pasties, baked golden brown, each with a little red cross on top. He'd baked _apfel im schlafrock_ -  small apple pastry bundles from his mother's hometown - using Armin's hybrid apples.

There would be scones with Devonshire cream from Churchfarm, drizzled maple honey bars from The Hive, and wild blueberry tarts.

The centrepiece was to be the cake. Jean had designed the cake in the shape of a vintage camera, covered in fondant and set on a sheet of white chocolate, imprinted to replicate a page from a wartime newspaper.

This morning, he'd come in early to put the finishing touches on his creation.

He rolled a length of fresh parchment onto his worktable, and wheeled the cake out of the walk-in cooler.

His tablet buzzed. He frowned, stabbing at it with a finger.

"Yo," Farlan's sleep-squished face appeared, eyes barely open beneath his Buckeyes ballcap.

"Hey."

"What'cha doin?"

"Miss Edith's anniversary cake. Check this out," Jean moved the tablet. "How awesome is that? I'm a genius."

"Fuck," Farlan nodded appreciatively. "It's an old camera."

"Yep. Cake, pasties, strudel, candied orange. Gonna be nice." He peered at Farlan. "You in the barn?"

"Yep. Cow breached during the night. Had to turn the baby and pull 'im out."

Jean snorted. "Better you than me. Is it okay?"

"Uh-huh. It's a boy, he's big. Maybe a new stud. The afterbirth was..."

"Fuck, no thank you, I don't need details! I'm good. Beers later?"

"Later."

Jean heard a creak on the stairs then. He lifted his head, listening. Then, a cough he recognized.

"Dad?" he called. No response.

"Dad, what is it?" he raised his voice. "Wait, I'll come up."

Presently, the door to the basement opened, and Uwe Kirschstein began to descend carefully, leaning on the railing, his bulk filling the narrow staircase.

"Dad, I said I'd come up," Jean began rolling out a sheet of fondant to create gold-leafed details for the camera cake.

"Ah," Uwe nodded. "Good morning, my dear. Ya, I'm okay, don't worry."

He made his way downstairs and over to the worktable, seating himself on a sturdy bench opposite Jean.

"It's beautiful," he admired the cake. "I tried the peach strudel, and it was beautiful, too."

Jean smiled. He poured his father a cup of coffee, setting it in front of Uwe. "What about an _apfel_ pastry, any extras?" Uwe asked.

Jean rolled his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to have plain, steel-cut oats in the morning?" He offered his dad two fresh pastries on a paper plate.

"Don't tell your mother." Uwe's hazel eyes twinkled.

Jean set about his work, dusting the fondant with gold leaf and then knifing out small knobs and a lens ring for the camera.

His father munched thoughtfully on the apfel pastry, brushing the crumbs from his moustache.

"I see you've put your hat in the ring for Town Council," Uwe commented.

"Yup."

"So, elections are in the spring. What about culinary classes in Toronto?"

Jean put down his pastry knife and poured himself a coffee. "I'm not going. Not right away, anyway."

"No?"

"No. I'm a George Brown grad, I have my pastry ticket, and my hospitality certification. There's nothing else I need, to do what I do here. The rest, it's just pure talent," he teased, favouring Uwe with a lopsided grin.

"You want to be a Town Councillor. I have to say, I'm surprised we didn't have any conversation about this," his father's Swabish accent had never entirely faded.

Jean shrugged, carefully applying a gilded knob to the top of his camera cake. "How could I not want to try? After....after everything that's happened to us? After Farlan got so sick?" he paused, "After losing so many friends..."

"Your motive sounds romantic," Uwe opined. "Civic work isn't romantic. It's tedious and messy. It's an imperfect system, and your constituents all need you to _hear_ them. It requires patience and humility, Jean."

"I know. I know all that. You've been in local politics all my life. I've learned a lot this past year, and I've got ideas. I want to give young families a reason to stay here. I want to work with people like Greer Tang to help develop brand recognition for our farms. I want to foster year-round tourism, like they have in Niagara-on-the-Lake. And I want to design region-centric curriculae that can be shared with Elbow Lake, for their school.

"Ambitious."

Jean waited. He looked up. His father watched him carefully. He smiled, nostalgically. "You want to hear a story about when I was young and athletic like you?"

"Sure."

"Well, too bad. I haven't got one. I was always a little fat guy. A fat kid, coming here from Germany after the war. We didn't settle in Kitchener with German relatives, we came up here instead. I hardly spoke any English. I got picked on pretty badly. And of course," he took a bite of his second pastry, "I couldn't have had a name like Peter or Josef or something regular. No, it had to be Uwe."

Jean leaned on the counter, chin resting in one cupped hand.

"I can't imagine you being unpopular," he said. "You're...you're larger than life. You always know what to do. You've always taken care of everyone. You're like…our rock."

"I had a big belly, but I had big fists, too. But I never hold a grudge. Eventually, I wore the other kids down and I made friends."

Jean carefully wheeled the cake back into the cooler and set about making biscuits for the Farmer's Breakfast Special. Uwe watched his son; the angular face beneath the bandanna he wore; large, spatulate hands working the dough. He'd become as good a baker as his mother; perhaps better.

"I love you," Uwe said.

"I know, Pop. I love you."

Uwe swallowed. "You're making very nice things for Edith and Ida's party."

"Thanks. I'm glad I brandied those peaches last summer. I...I want it to be special for them. Like...I want them to know, _that I know_...how important their day is. Do you get it?"

"I get it. Can I say something to you?"

Jean slapped the dough onto his surface, rolling methodically. He gave his dad a wary, sidelong glance. "Yeah."

Uwe took a breath. "If you want to run for Council…if you want a career in civics...my dear, then I encourage you, with all my heart...to be yourself."

He let the words sink in. Jean had stopped, the biscuit cutter suspended over the dough. His face tightened.

"Jeanbo," his father spoke quietly, "Elected rural officials represent a more enlightened constituency now than say, twenty years ago. It's more diverse. Remember, Erwin had good success. I think you would be a very strong member of Council if you keep your ears open, and your ego in check. But...you know, it will be a very lonely life if you choose to live in a closet."

Jean set the cutter carefully into the dough. He swallowed, taking a shaky breath. "It's called _in the closet_ , dad. Not in a closet."

"Okay, not in the closet. Outside of the closet. Your beautiful self outside of the closet. And then maybe when you are a very old man, someone will make such a beautiful tea as this for you and your person. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Jean refused to look up; he would not let Uwe see the tears of uncertainty in his eyes.

The portly mayor stood up, rounded the table, and kissed his only child on the forehead. "Nobody ever had as strong and generous and kind-hearted a son as this," he said gently, "Mum and I are blessed to have you for our kid."

__________

Erwin Smith would have been pleased, Armin reflected, to see his A-frame house filled with such purpose.

The outbuilding - smaller than a barn yet larger than a tool shed - now housed Armin's cider press and bottling station. He'd entered into a venture with Mike Zacharius, and the two of them had concocted two varieties of hard cider.

He'd repaved the drive, created a patio area, and proudly hung a sign: E.R. Smith Orchards, Church River, Ontario.

The main floor of the house had become Greenspace's Ontario Northeast office; it was an open-concept work environment with a monitor table, glass cubicles a grouping of comfy library chairs in front of the fieldstone fireplace. The dining room had been converted into a makeshift press centre; Armin was working with Marley Enviro Tech to coordinate the cleanup of Elbow Lake First Nation. Marley had sent a staff of thirty, headed by a large, noisy Norwegian called Reiner Braun. Braun had a Dene mother, and was a vocal advocate for Elbow Lake First Nation.

The upper floor of the A-frame now housed two small rooms for colleagues to stay in overnight, an archive, and a large great room with a vaulted ceiling.

It was here, as the winter sun sunk behind the western hedgerow one afternoon, that Armin found Lin Woodman.

Lin was lost in thought, slowly walking the perimeter of the great room, then standing still, head cocked, examining the walls washed butter yellow in the fading light.

Armin entered the near-empty room. He perched himself on a low stool, watching.

Lin turned, regarding him. _Northern light_ , he signed. _This huge window is north facing. It's a neutral light. A light with a balanced spirit._

Armin nodded.

_It is good to be here, now that it's quiet. All of the people-craziness is finished. I can think._

Armin smiled. Lin had a way of infusing his sign language with incredible wryness, sarcasm and he had an almost vaudevillian knack for hyperbole, once he felt comfortable.

Lin ran a hand along one of the exposed timbers. These flanked the wall, like ribs, and then vaulted overhead, supporting the peaked ceiling.

 _A strong man lived here,_ he signed quietly. _I can still feel his energy, in the wood._

 _I know,_ Armin replied. _Me too._

_How come this room is almost empty? It's the best room in the house._

_Well,_ Armin strode over to the window, looking out. Below and in the distance the north barn, and the sheep paddock settled into twilight. _It was supposed to be my office. But...I can't seem to bring myself to use it. I've always worked at the monitor table, or nearby. With other people, particularly Connie. I need to feel...enveloped in what I'm doing. For me to be alone, up here...well, it's no different than if I had a glass office downtown at our Toronto site. So...I don't know. Maybe I'll rent it out. Eren stays over sometimes, but he stays in the Big House. So yeah. Maybe I'll let it go for three-hundred bucks or something._

A moment later, Lin nudged him.

 _Here_ , he shoved a wad of bills into Armin's hand. _Three hundred and twelve bucks, okay?_

Armin let out a little bark of surprise. "Oh!" He looked at the painter. "Um…okay," he grinned. "I...guess I'll get you a key!"

 _Good,_ Lin signed simply.

__________

"What is that _thing_?" Karen Edo leaned forward, peering into her computer monitor. "What are you wearing around your neck?"

Mikasa, on a face time call with her mom, rolled her eyes. "It's called a scarf, mother."

Karen frowned. It was a scarf, of dark red-brown wool, looped repeatedly around Mikasa's neck. "It's seen better days," Karen remarked, "What did you do, find it in a barn?"

"It's from Eren."

Karen blinked. "And who is Eren?"

"My friend."

"Well, maybe she wants it back," Karen said hopefully.

"He. And no, he doesn't. It's cold here. Way colder than Vancouver."

"You look...different," Karen said.

"Mom. Listen. I've got a secondment. I've been assigned to do a series of articles on Elbow Lake. The articles on Dad were well-received. I've been given exclusive access behind the Blockade. This is a huge opportunity! I'm staying here another few weeks, and then coming back twice more this year."

"Really? That's amazing news! Your last series was so well done. But Mikasa, please do be careful."

"I am! Mom, you need to get used to me going to different places. This is just Ontario! I could end up in Palestine or Cambodia, who knows! Can you please just be happy for me?"

"Yes. I can be happy for you. How old is this Eren?"

"Forty-two."

_"Mikasa!"_

"No, no..." she laughed then, without derision, her face lighting up. "No mom, oh my God, your _face_...he's like twenty-five. He's a vet."

Mikasa unwound the scarf then, setting it aside. "Okay, better?"

Karen squinted at the screen. "What is that...mark on your neck?"

Mikasa lifted a finger, touching the purple kiss-marks that adorned her collarbone. "Ringworm probably," she said flatly.

"Let me talk to your father. Now!"

__________

Karen regarded Lin, with relief. He seemed his usual, eccentric self. He had the dark fringe that habitually fell into his eyes pinioned to the top of his head with a bulldog clip. He had bare arms, and was wearing what appeared to be a fishing vest.

She exhaled. _You're working,_ she signed.

He nodded. _Yah. I got a studio space._

_Are you okay?_

_There is a lot going on here,_ Lin signed dramatically, giving Karen the impression of an eight-lane commuter highway.

_I'm sure it can't be that busy?_

_It is. Cows in, cows out, sheep in, milk truck in, milk truck gone, planes landing, atv's..._

_Lin, it's a farm._

He fiddled with a toggle on the fishing vest. _I got this at the Coop. You like it? I like it._ And then: _The kid is okay. I get him. He's like me._

 _So,_ Karen nodded, _He's creative? Driven?_

_He's a grumpy, self-absorbed wee sod. With a tender heart._

Karen laughed; Lin had communicated these ideas with great affection. _He's a good man, Karen. He stands up for what's important. He takes care of his loved ones. And he is loved. By family, friends, and his community. It's the life I had hoped he'd have, and here it is._

_Great. Great for you. What on earth is going on with your daughter? You remember her?_

_She met somebody._

_Yes I can see the evidence of that,_ Karen signed sharply.

_Calm down, Mama Bear. He's okay. A little bit wild, but okay. He's really taken with her. Karen._

_What?_

_I'm going to stay for a couple seasons. Through to fall. I want to be able to say that I know the boy. That takes time._

Small and tight: _I knew it._

Lin pressed on. _I went to see the machinist. He's sort of a machinist, mechanic, jack-of-all-trades. He's called Stringer Magnolia. I asked if he was looking to take anybody on. We had a bit of a chat...he was a little hesitant at first, not knowing me...but farm machinery servicing has been in decline. Nowadays, farmers lease equipment, and service is included. But...we're on the Trent-Severn Waterway here, and you know what there's a lot of? Boats! And I know everything you'd want to know, about fixing boats. So I'll be working with Stringer sometimes._

She'd fallen silent, looking at some other point in the room.

He made a sound. "Hey!"

She looked back at the screen. _I knew this would happen._

 _No, you don't know. I'll be here, for a while, but I am coming home. I am coming home, Karen. I'll be home before the snow flies. Home,_ he signed slowly, watching her, _Home is where you are. I am coming back to you. I don't want to be away from you anymore._

And he smiled, a beautiful smile that she'd not seen in a very long time.

__________

"He went down to the lakeshore," Armin was explaining to Mikasa, "He went down there with Farlan's ATV, and came back dragging a huge piece of driftwood, as big as me! He set it up in the studio - it took both of us and Mike to lift it up there. He..."

Mikasa handed out cartons of Chinese takeout as she sat with Levi and Armin, in the Greenspace office in the A-frame. A cheerful blaze crackled in the fireplace.

"Thank you," Armin accepted a broccoli with beef, licking his thumb. "And then, he just...stared at it for most of a day. Pacing, and _staring_..."

Mikasa nodded, unperturbed.

"And _then_ ," Armin began to sign as well, just in case Levi might miss the next bit, "He lay down in his sleeping bag and has been sleeping there for a day and a half! I keep checking that he's breathing. I'm very worried!"

Mikasa opened a container of steamed rice, pushing some out onto a paper plate. "It's okay," she said. "he's gathering himself."

"He's...?"

"Gathering his energy. Collecting himself...something good is going to happen, you wait and see."

Levi sat, cross-legged, balancing a bowl of Szechuan noodles in his lap. He'd spent years of his life in front of this fireplace. The room was now transformed; painted a soft white, containing a huge map of the Trent-Severn. It buzzed with purpose, and echoed with laughter. It was no longer a lonely, heart-wrenching place, frozen in time. Erwin would have been so pleased; Levi could feel it.

He might have been less-pleased about Mikasa's purple hickey collection and her coy demeanor.

"Do I need to have a word with Eren?"? Levi asked suddenly.

"Do you...oh!" Mikasa touched the scarf around her neck. Her brother's stare was intense; like Lin's.

" _Jesus._ Do I stare like that as well?" she asked Armin.

"No," Armin was munching on a water chestnut. "You have very dark, soft eyes. But deep. Thoughtful."

"Hah," she flushed a little.

"Do I need to talk to Eren about anything?" Levi persisted.

"I can," Mikasa regarded him evenly, "Manage to navigate my own social life. But it is nice to be looked-out for."

The following day, a symphony of noise began to issue from the great room. Sawing, hacking, sanding, plaster slopping, water running.

Lin might not have been the ideal tenant, but Armin had grown up with one cyclone in the person of his father, then another in Hanje, so this was nothing new.

Lin's process lasted another three weeks, and had also involved several trips to Elbow Lake.

Armin had accompanied him a couple of times, to pick up samples from Reiner's team. They had arrived at the Band Council House one morning, to find Reiner Braun waiting. He handed several coolers of samples to Armin.

"The undertaker in town…" Reiner began.

Armin's eyes had widened. "Oh, no! What? Has somebody died?" he exclaimed.

Reiner raised one thick blond eyebrow. "Not yet," he said pointedly. "Bert, the funeral director. Does he...does he date anybody?"

"Oh, jeez," Armin stammered. He hadn't seen this coming. "I...I don't know, really. I've never seen him out of his penguin suit. Not that I _want_ to see him out of it…th-that's not what I'm implying, at all...."

Reiner chuckled, clapping Armin on the back hard enough to make him grunt. "No one is like you, Arlert. It's a gift."

Armin made his way back to the A-frame, and placed the samples into Connie's vehicle, for transport to the lab at Sunnybrook. He went into his office, and must have fallen asleep on the couch. It was dark when he woke.

"Shit," he thumbed his phone. _I fell asleep,_ he texted Levi.

 _I'm in the north barn,_ came the reply. _The calf won't latch, we're feeding him by hand. We can have soup later._

_OK_

Armin sat in the silence, looking out of the window, across the field. The lights in the Big House winked brightly; Eren and Mikasa had joined Farlan and Isabel for a game of euchre.

He found himself suddenly overwhelmed, thinking about those who had been cheered by these same lights; beckoning them home, to a hot meal and a loving embrace. Kuchel. And Erwin.

The porch light was on in the Stone Chapel; he would go back shortly, to have turkey soup with Levi. It was oddly silent upstairs. It occurred to Armin that maybe Lin might like to come over to share the soup.

He stood, drifting upstairs. He paused at the door of the great room, now Lin's studio. Lin stood, facing the piece of art he had created out of the driftwood log. He was barefoot, wearing track pants, shirtless beneath the fishing vest he'd gotten from the Coop. The room smelled of plaster, alkyd paint and sawdust. And, rising from the middle of it, a sculpture that took Armin's breath away.

"Oh...."

Lin had transformed the driftwood into a totem of sorts; a shape-shifting piece wherein the log was parting, and a pale figure was emerging from it. The figure had been painted in frosty white, sheened with pale moss and arctic blue, lacquered like ice. She was mournful, powerful.

"That's Ymir Crow," Armin recognized the plaster casting. "Lin...this is...it's...

 _It's finished,_ Lin looked exhausted, and satiated. _She is a boreal wood spirit. I think she epitomizes her people. It's time to call attention to what is happening here...maybe I can do this through art._

Armin sat down, staring. "This is..."

Lin sat beside Armin then. He smelled of sweat and acrylic compound. He looked at the youngster, taking in the cherubic features, the wide, serious eyes.

_I love the pallor, Armin signed...like boreal tundra._

_Have you ever been to the arctic?_ Lin asked.

Armin nodded. _Yes._

_Then you know. There are powerful spirits up there. The boreal forest. Taiga. This is where she comes from._

Then: _Armin, do you know that I met your dad?_

Armin was still, watching Lin carefully.

_I met him. He flew me out of here, many years ago during the troubles we had. I met him through Faye Hawley._

_He took me in a small plane to Moose Factory, and from there, in a charter to Anchorage. It's the first time I saw the boreal forest, looking out of that plane window. It was many years before I came south of the timberline again._

"You saw him?" the blue eyes welled with tears, "He helped you?"

_Oh yes. He was remarkable, larger than life. He took me to Anchorage and I got a job working as a mechanic on the crab boats there. I discovered I like the cold. I was good at it. I needed....to be somewhere, that Kenny was not. At that time._

Armin nodded.

_Armin. You are surrounded by forceful personalities. So was I, when I was young. But remember that you are strong, too. You are intrepid. I think I like you very much._

Armin smiled, through his tears.

__________

 _Spring Thaw_ by Churchill Smith was published on January twentieth, and arrived at local booksellers one week later. It was a blunt, emotionally-saturated tale of hope after a storm; by turns bawdy, tragic, tender and uplifting. Reviews were mostly positive, some reviewers flinched at the book's stripped-down honesty, very much in the style of _The Stone Chapel_. _Spring Thaw_ was short-listed for a Giller Prize, a triumph for Signal Tree Publishing.

Terry Puckett cleared out the window of his comic shop, _Batcave on Brock_ , proudly filling the window with copies.

Petra Bossard ordered twelve copies for the library, and still had difficulty keeping any of these in stock.

Lively discussions broke out in Kirschstein's diner, over anecdotes that Levi had included in the book. A favourite was his thinly-disguised accounting of Rollie Stroud's funeral, featuring Bert Hoover as reluctant hero.

Mikasa Ackerman sat in the Diner, in the third booth from the door, nursing a black coffee and listening to the chatter. She hadn't read the book. She was, she reasoned, far too busy working on her exposé with Ymir, with Benj Smoke, and with Eren's enigmatic and slightly eerie brother, indigenous lawyer Zeke Jaeger.

"Your hair," she was jolted out of her reverie. The Diner's owner, Jean Kirschstein, was standing beside her with the coffee pot.

"I like your hair like that," he elaborated. Mikasa had to touch her own head to remember what was going on with her hair. She'd bound it in two loose plaits, from which a good deal of it had slipped free.

"Yeah," Jean continued, undeterred..."I like that look...like, deliberately messy...like you're not really trying. My hair, is sort of the same as that…see, it's spiky and messy, like bed head...but it's like...my look..." He tilted his head so that Mikasa could fully appreciate his charms.

"You're lucky that I like you," Mikasa deadpanned.

Levi joined her shortly thereafter.

"Hi," she nodded.

"Calf won't suckle," he grumped. "No taste for the teat. I don't know..."

Levi was an anomaly; belonging partly to the literary world, and partly to the land, a soul in the breach.

He placed a copy of _The Vancouver Eye_ onto the table.

"You never said that you can write," he told her, signing with polite precision, as he might do for Petra. "Not like this. You can _write_."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to remain impervious to his praise, and failing. She was suffused with something akin to relief at his validation. "It reads okay?"

He reached over, taking her hands into his own. "You are doing important work here, Mikasa. Real work. Not fiction. This is exceptional. You are reaching thousands. I've been too preoccupied with Lin…I didn't give you a chance."

"It's ok," was all she could manage, throat tightening pleasantly.

He removed a card from his wallet, handing it to her. "Here. When you next go to the city, go and talk to my editor, Juliet Smith. She is asking about you."

He leaned back, and smiled at his little sister. "I am so glad to know you, Mikasa."

__________

**EIGHT MONTHS LATER**

_What is this?_ Farlan Church texted Jean.

Jean was making pumpkin spice puree in the downstairs kitchen at the Diner. He peered at the screen. It appeared to be vintage war footage; a combat plane in flames, tailspinning into the south Pacific. He wiped a hand on his apron.

 _Pearl Harbour,_ he tapped back.

_No asshole, that is your shitbox demo derby car after I smash the hell out of it on Friday night!_

Jean grinned. His car was ready. He'd even airbrushed flames onto the hood.

 _Suck me_ , he replied.

__________

**THE FAIR**

At first there is nothing to see. A patchy, empty field beside the Grandstand. At it's south end is the Princess Grace Pavilion, where the livestock shows will be. And flanking it to the east, the new Rogers building; a glassed-in edifice that will showcase modern agricultural life. There will be displays covering GMO seeds, organic farming, chemicals and pesticides. Manufacturers will demonstrate electronic livestock management software, recycled pipe irrigation, and satellite herd tracking. Greenspace will have an exhibit chronicling the contaminated land recovery project of 2017.

Much has changed over the years. Some things, however, have not. Before dawn, a convoy of trucks will enter the fairgrounds, through the south gate. The carnies, itinerant workers from parts far and wide, will begin to erect the Midway. A grid is required, mapping out each attraction, with alleyways for electrical wiring, generators, computer servers.

The grid begins with a spiked-out framework. And the spiked-out framework begins with the clear ring of a single, ball peen hammer striking a tent spike.

__________

Reynaud Joice raised his powerful arms, bringing the hammer down onto the spike. He grinned. And his eyes filled with tears.

Viv Peddle, leaning sleepily against the tailgate of her truck and slurping a Tim Horton's coffee, shook her head. "I can't believe you Rey, honestly," she teased. "You're worse than a little girl. Can we go now? I've got to get ready."

Rey leaned on the hammer. "Yep," he said, "I think everything's in good hands, here."

__________

 _Pull on Sunday, Plough on Monday_ was an old saying. The tractor pull division in which Vivian Peddle was entered was for farm-grade pulling equipment, rather than souped-up show tractors. Viv had made it through three heats, and now found herself in the final.

She sat in her tractor, nicknamed Kiki, looking down at Stringer Magnolia and Lin Woodman, who were peering under the tractor's hood.

 _Well?_ she signed impatiently, _It sounds weird. Is everything okay?_

 _Yeah, yeah,_ Stringer signed back. _It's not weird. Just different from how Rollie would've done it, God rest him. Lin and me got this._

 _Yeah_ , the sharp face, with it's greying mop of black hair popped up. _We got you, Viv._

The hood was slammed shut, and Viv rolled to the start line. She closed her eyes and prayed. "C'mon Kiki…"

Vivian Peddle brought home a seventh consecutive blue ribbon in Farm Grade Division Tractor Pull, for Peddle's Feed and Seed.

__________

"I need to see some ID, ladies," Mike Zacharius leaned out of the E.R. Smith Orchards booth, smiling at the two college girls eager to try his hard cider.

"Aaah," squealed one of the girls, spying the tiny baby strapped to his chest, "I can't even, she's so cuuuuute!"

Mike smiled despite himself, placing a huge hand on top of Aurora's wee head. She kicked happily in her snuggly, bright red baby hair trapped in a tiny hairclip.

"How old is she?"

"Five months," Mike replied proudly.

" _Seriously hot dad_ ," one girl mouthed to the other.

At the other end of the counter, Armin Arlert snorted at them. He was serving a retired couple from Etobicoke. "Now," he said, "this is E.R. Smith Cider. It's a hybrid apple cider, based on our founder Erwin's grafts. Grafting was a very serious hobby for Erwin, and this cider reflects that..."

He passed them each a sample-sized paper cup.

"Now, our other cider has a bit of a kick. It's a cherry-infused apple cider, with a bit more bite. This would hold up alongside spicy barbecue, or fire-grilled pizza…" He crossed his arms, flushed with pride, and perhaps a few too many samples, "I call it, 'Flying Dutchman'!"

__________

The Elbow Lake blockade had been lifted the previous April, thanks in no small part to Zeke Jaeger occupying the front lawn of the Ottawa Parliament Buildings, as part of a month-long demonstration, demanding restitution for the Elbow Lake Anishinaabe.

Ymir Crow's life had settled back into a routine; she'd overseen the renovation of Kenny Ackerman's cannabis farm, and the rebranding of same as ' _Ackerman & Reiss Bio-Medicinals_'. She'd been persuaded by Lin Woodman to volunteer as a life-drawing model for art classes at the Norold Community Centre. 'You have good bones,' Lin had said.

Historia Reiss had turned in a favourable parole recommendation for Kenny Ackerman, and promptly resigned from the Department of Corrections to become a full-time organic farmer, sharing her home with Ymir Crow.

 _'Boreal Forest Spirit'_ by Lin Woodman was sold at asking price and now sits in the downtown lobby of the Toronto Dominion Bank's north tower on Bay Street. Proceeds from the sale helped to establish an e-learning centre in Elbow Lake.

__________

"You're the rat guy."

Connie Springer looked up from the table he was manning in the Greenspace Booth at the Church River Fall Fair. A boy of about thirteen stood there. He was thin, with sharp, dark eyes. A man was with him; Connie recognized Constable Benj Smoke from Elbow Lake. Benj nodded at Connie, giving the shy boy a little shake of encouragement.

"You are the rat guy, right?" the boy persisted.

Connie grinned. He stuck out a hand. "I'm Connie Springer. I'm an environmental science tech, and yeah, my specialty is observing how contamination impacts wildlife, and what it means. I'm the rat guy."

"I'm Jackson. Um. So, how do I learn to do this as a job?"

"Well," Connie said, "a little at a time. Concentrate on biology and chemistry in high school. Math too. You like math?"

A nod.

Connie passed a booklet to Jackson Smoke. "Read this. In September, bring me your course list, and I'll help. My office is at Churchfarm. Cool?"

Jackson smiled, revealing a new front tooth. "Yeah man, cool. Thanks."

__________

Levi loved the Demolition Derby. It was the highlight of the Fair, on Friday night. Farlan had been impossible for a week prior, spending every free moment in the barn, tinkering with the Chevy. Lin, who knew a fair amount about engines, had helped him out.

 _It's a demo derby,_ Farlan had signed, which looked to Lin like someone making a sandwich. He faced Lin, and spoke clearly, "These cars are on their last legs. They only got to last for one event, and then it's off to the wreckers for stripping and recycling. You smash into each other, last car running wins. Now, some makes and models do better than others. This Chevy Impala, Rollie picked for me and it's gonna get the job done."

Armin and Levi sat in the Grandstand with Isabel, Lin, Eren and Mikasa. The ground rumbled as the first heat began; eight cars starting their engines and lining up in the walled-off sandpit. At the drop of the flag, the cars reversed into each other, and the impact was deafening. Levi felt the Grandstand shudder, and grinned.

Jean Kirschstein was in the first heat. His car was painted up; saucy red-and-yellow flames adorned the hood. He spun in circles, contacting other vehicles left and right.

Farlan's car was in the third heat. He hadn't bothered with much decoration beyond the derby number applied to his vehicle's doors and hood. Across the roof he'd scrawled one word in spray paint: _Youngblood._

Isabel shot out of her seat, whooping and cheering. "Go, baby! C'mon!"

Farlan drove efficiently; he was less showy than Jean, picking his spots, smashing into the other vehicles until he was the last car with an engine running.

"Oh man!" Armin hollered. "I'm doing this next year!"

Mikasa turned to Levi. _What now?_ she signed.

 _Final heat,_ replied Levi. _Six cars, the two best from each of the qualifying heats._

There was a brief break, and then six battered cars chugged into the arena, under the floodlights. They lined up, backing at full speed into one another.

Jean had been too busy looking for Farlan to notice the Ford in his blindspot. The Ford took out his back end, and his car sputtered and spun. His car listed to one side, the back wheel assembly bent in. He shook his head. First out. First. Out.

Farlan took his time, plowing one vehicle and then another into the hay bales that surrounded the arena. Two opponents were left, then one. The official commenced a countdown on Farlan's remaining adversary, but that car's engine had flooded. Only Farlan remained.

With a whoop of victory, _Youngblood_ spun in circles, to the cheers of the fans in the Grandstand. Then, one by one they rose to their feet, applauding the boy that had nearly died, and by some miracle had fought his way back to health.

When the wreckage had been cleared, and the smoke had subsided, Jean Kirschstein stood on the podium, at the microphone.

"Hey all," he greeted them. "How's Church River tonight?"

The crowd applauded.

"I'd uh..I'd like to thank Moyes Pontiac Buick, and John Deere Tractor, for sponsoring the derby this year. Hope you all liked what you saw!"

They applauded. "Farlan!!" somebody shouted.

Jean grinned. "So," he took a breath. "In third place, I got a trophy here, for Sasha Peddle. Sasha, c'mon up!"

Sasha bounded onto the stage, glowing in her filthy overalls. Jean handed her the trophy. "And," he nodded, "You better watch your butt, missy. 'Cause some of us gonna see you at Norold's Fall Fair derby, and you better be ready!"

"Second place," Jean continued, "We got Dwight Zacharius. DMZ, get up here, you big lug!" Mike's brother mounted the podium in one leap, dwarfing Jean and shaking his hand.

"And…your winner of the 2018 Church River Fall Fair Demolition Derby…is Farlan Church!"

Farlan ran forward, and up the stairs. He embraced Jean, and then lifted the trophy over his head, with a whoop of victory. His family and friends, his community and county, stood as one, applauding. Isabel wept, Armin leapt into the air, pumping his fist.

When the ovation had died down, Jean remained at the mic. "Um. So yeah, we got one more award," he shook his head, highly amused. "So, here's the Golden Turkey," he held aloft a plastic turkey statue, spray-painted gold. "The Golden Turkey, as you all know, is for the driver that's first out, and therefore last place. That would be yours truly. Last place, first out!"

He stood there, alone. Then, a figure leapt out of the Grandstand, running across the sandpit, and joining him on the podium. Jean watched, mouth agape in surprise.

"Who's that?" Levi wanted to know. Armin squinted. Then, "Oh my God, that's our Marco! You know, Marco. Our paralegal! What the…"

Marco Bodt stood on the stage with Jean, winner of the Golden Turkey. Jean began to laugh, opened his arms and embraced Marco tightly. Then, in front of all of Church River, he planted a kiss onto Marco's lips.

There was a silence of perhaps twenty seconds, during which the crowd held it's collective breath. And then, Edith Hoover stood, thrusting her cane into the air and yelling out, "You'll get 'em next year, Councillor, don't you worry!"

Uwe Kirschstein whistled and applauded, tears in his eyes. Levi stood, hollering something indistinguishable. Families stood, neighbours, friends, all applauding.

Jean wept. He swiped at his eyes, stepping to the microphone. "I can't sign too well. Can somebody…"

Petra Bossard waved her hand. "Hang on! Hang on!" She handed Aurora to Mike and minced her way across the arena. She stood on the podium beside Jean and Marco.

 _Can everyone see me?_ she signed. The crowd clapped.

Jean cleared his throat. "What I want to say… _all_ I want to say is…unless you live here in the food belt, in Church River or in Norold or Wapassing, or in Elbow Lake First Nation, you'd never be able to understand the joy we feel today, after everything we've been through. We're so grateful to Greenspace and to Marley Enviro for cleaning up our land, and for figuring out why we got sick. Our community is unique. It's a Deaf community, and it's also a diverse and tolerant community which is a really good thing because I'm shaking like a damn leaf right now," he laughed nervously. "This is Marco Bodt. He's a paralegal and he works for Greenspace. His father litigated our class action suit. He's also my boyfriend. I hope that all different types of families will continue wanting to live here, in Church River. There's a place for everybody here, and the only thing we don't want here, is hate."

Jean Kirschstein would go on to win three consecutive terms as Church River Town Councillor. He would never beat Farlan Church in a demolition derby event.

__________

**APRIL 2019, TWO YEARS AFTER ARMIN'S ARRIVAL IN CHURCH RIVER**

"Kiss me," Levi took Armin's hands.

 _I always kiss you when I leave_ , Armin signed.

They stood at the threshold of the Stone Chapel, Armin's duffel bag at their feet.

 _This is different,_ signed Levi, _Things will never be the same._

 _Drama,_ teased Armin. He regarded Levi. His lover had a two-day beard; he'd been hard at work on his latest manuscript. The roughed-in title was _'The Salt Island House'_. It was about an intrepid young woman, who wrote her truth.

Levi raised a hand, cupping the pale cheek as if it was the last thing he'd ever do. His fingers brushed the blond fringe, caressing the bare neck. "I like it short," he said, "It's so cute. You look edible…"

He brought his face close to Armin's, nudging the turned-up nose with his own. "I don't want you to go…"

"I'm going. We said."

"I want to fuck you. I want to make you mine, all the way through to your soul."

His parted lips brushed Armin's with infinite tenderness. Armin closed his eyes, resisting the kiss just enough to cause Levi's tongue to nudge his lips apart hungrily. Levi backed him against the wall, pinning him bodily. He lifted Armin off of the ground, Armin's ankles locking behind his hips.

"Yes," Levi encouraged, "That's it. You want to do it, I know you do…"

"Put me down."

Levi did so, his forehead touching Armin's. He remained that way for a long moment, in silent communion.

"No regrets," he whispered.

"None."

"Goodbye, angel."

__________

Vivian Peddle couldn't understand why on earth Armin would pick spring thaw season. It was the bleakest, ugliest time of year in farm country. Sullen, dun-brown fields, gritty snow hanging on in tired drifts, terrible weather. Ewes bloated with milk, the Pigeon River rushing headlong into Sturgeon Lake.

Three vehicles wound their way slowly up Highway 36, toward Churchfarm. As the cars passed Sandy Bay, Armin called out, "Wait! Stop! Pull over…"

Connie, who was driving the car containing Armin, Rico and Hanje, pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

"I think he's going to puke," Connie said. "Nerves."

Hanje rolled down the window. "You want me, honey?"

"No, mum," Armin flapped a hand back at the car. "Just wait…"

He inhaled slowly. There was no smell in the world like spring thaw; pungent and fecund and full of promise. He stepped off of the gravel shoulder, peering into the thorny grey bracken. A few curious cows meandered over, to see what he was about.

"Hi, cows!" he said. And then, he saw it. There, in the brush. A nest, in the same place as the first nest he'd seen here, two years prior. And in the nest, three eggs, vivid blue against the grey-brown hedgerow. He smiled.

"Armin Arlert!" Viv leaned out of the truck that Rey was driving. "What the hell are you doing? Look at your dress shoes and pant cuffs! You're full of mud!"

He turned then with a small, contented smile.

"The mud doesn't matter, Aunt Viv. I'm marrying a farmer today, aren't I?"

 


End file.
